


lose. your. mind.

by regionalsky



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Band, Barely Legal, Character Death, Fluff, Gay, High School, I promise my grammar is great I just like commas, I write these chapters like 10 times, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Parties, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad, Smut, Suicide Attempt, This is all written really late at night, Weed, a lot of drinking, ditching class, honestly a lot of drinking, hopefully fluff, josh is a sophomore tyler is a senior, joshler - Freeform, like seriously they're both drunk for like the entire time, no phun intended helps me stay awake, no self harm, probably abuse, sad ish, seriously I get like 0 sleep, two points of view, weird ass style of writing, you'll love it i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10002350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionalsky/pseuds/regionalsky
Summary: They had one class together. One.One party, too. One party together, late on a Wednesday night.Tyler was bored. Josh was drunk.Tyler had no conscience. Josh lost consciousness.For some reason, this time, it was different for Tyler. He was actually guilty. He had no idea why, and Josh still had no clue what happened.They got drunk again. Things weren't fixed.Are they ever going to figure out what happened that night?Or will Tyler just keep running?[warnings: rape- both mentioned and described. not graphic, mostly just the emotional view, and the fallout afterwards.]





	1. 11/15 Monday Morning: Josh

**Author's Note:**

> Hey frens,  
> Please tell me what you think about this.  
> I know drunk Josh is weird. It's how I think when I'm drunk.  
> I know Tyler is stereotypical.  
> I promise I think about this a lot.  
> Please comment.  
> Stay alive

eviscerate.

puerile.

spin.

enthrall.

venal.

apex.

  
  


Whiteboard squeaking, and a teacher with bad breath writes things I don’t care about. She has a slight lisp that shows up every once in awhile, and says "potentially" way too much. 

It's tempting to sleep in her class, but I force my eyes open and doodle on your notebook.

I write the words as they come to me, with a blue sharpie, on the back of your notebook. On the cardboard sheet they have to protect the actual paper inside, the great thoughts we're supposed to have. The one that always ends up engraved with pencil marks and side notes and doodles from the classes you couldn’t keep your thoughts from wandering.

  
  


halycon.

imperious.

ineffable.

hoarse.

sky.

 

The wooden door hits the wall, disrupting the sniffs and page-turning sounds throughout the room. Ms.Campbell stops droning. I look up, halfway hoping it isn’t you. 

It is. Late.

People’s eyes return to their books as you lock yours with mine. I can’t look away. The sharpie, still finishing the y of sky, slides slowly down the page like a tear. My hands and face go numb as you slowly slowly slowly stalk your way across the room. Dark hair falls across your dark eyes, covering your stare but not hiding the crescent moons.

A crescent moon. That was funny. It had been a crescent the night before, I remember looking out your window and seeing it, surrounded by a halo of late-night-exhaustion and tears. The moon had glowed more than usual.

I smile. I don’t feel my face move. You grin. I breathe the last air free of your scent, and look around the room. Light yellow paint and posters cover the walls, giving a sickly sweet feel. The hours of mindless staring got rid of any good feel of the room long, long ago. Wide windows opened into a courtyard overcast with huge, pregnant stormclouds. Rain was sure to come later in the afternoon. 

The smell of you fills my thoughts, overruling anything other than the circle-shaped bruises on my collarbone, your room, the smell of wet wool. 

Another snags my mind. 

 

erythema. 

Although, I don’t write it down. I can’t do that when you are right behind me, when you can see every milimeter my fingers tremble. 

 

Wrapping your arms around me, you read the blue sharpie on the notebook. I shiver. It is right. It is wrong. You feel so right. You feel so, so wrong. Fuck. 

I watch the girls sitting across the room. There are five of them, holding their books but not reading. Talking, whispering, pretending I am stupid. I know they are talking about me and you. You and me, as I would be corrected if I said it out loud. The girls keep whispering and pointing. Jealous, even though they would never admit it. Jealous, like I am of them. They don’t have to talk to you, which, of course, is what they are jealous of. How did I trick myself into this so badly?

 

“Hoarse?” You murmur into my ear, sending more chills down my back. The way you say it. Do you know everything? Hoarse. How you were last night, how I’m not supposed to tell anyone. 

Your hands and lips and warmth and humming chest remind me. And I want to throw up. When you keep your arms around me, and squeeze into the plastic chair-and-desk combo meant for one, I almost do. 

Reading the words silently to yourself, you take the notebook from my hands. I watch your lips form the sounds. Maybe if I stay still, you will keep re-reading the words. If I don’t move, not even blink, you will forget I exist and stay in your world. Try to figure out the meaning of the letters I have drawn. I am a deer desperately trying to avoid the headlights, frozen in the middle of the road.

When you look back at me, our eyes inches apart, I know I gave myself away. It must have been my trembling fingers, the rise and fall of my ribcage. I need to stop breathing sometime. 

 

_ You like to sleep alone, it’s colder than you know, ‘cause your skin is so used to colder bones.  _

It’s a song stuck in my head. A silly song. I don’t like to sleep alone. I’m not cold. I don’t get used to it. I never get used to you.

There’s no way you actually are looking for something real. No way you’ll make my daydreams a reality. You just used me, and want attention. You aren’t here for anything other but to milk my guilt.

You’re still looking at me. What do you want? Who am I kidding, I know what you want,  it’s what you always want. If it isn't homework, it's what you want. I wonder what it is this time. Gin? Tequila? 

We are in school. We are in class. We are reading. We cannot do that. 

Reading. We can read. I’ll read with you again, one more time. It’s how we started, right? I can relax. It feels really good, having you with me and around me and those girls jealous of me and a book I don’t have to read. You smell good. It is okay. 

I think I’m okay, at least, I haven’t told anyone. I only know you at night, and during the day, I seem to cease to exist in your eyes, other than to do your homework, until after last night. Until now. 

 

_ It’s warmer in the morning than what it is at night, _

_ Your bones are held together by your nightmares and your frights.  _

  
  


Tracing circles on your forearm, I wonder what I will say to you. You breathe, in and out. Calm. You seem to like my almost unconscious touching, or maybe you can sense the fear that edges my breaths. You seem to like that as well. 

I can almost convince myself that I am calm, that this is like every other day we have spent in this room, waiting for the bell to ring and time for me to go with you. Time time time time, it’s always in control, even over you. Time runs out, time is limited. Time is the fourth dimension, the extra factor, the variable that makes some things inevitable. The notebook full of my thoughts, now in your hands has captured you Just like the black on your hands captured me. Lines and dots and squares and circles. Small. But I always see them.

They don’t smudge anymore. The black is permanent, which means you can’t take it back. The consequences are yours forever, and holy shit, do I have a lot of consequences. 

Of course, I can’t speak of them, they are about you. Me as well, but mostly you. If anyone knew, things would go very badly. People who know people would be called, people who are held by the law to report things, people would be taken places and turned into completely different people. That’s a lot of people involved over one person, and it really isn't worth it. 

 

_ You are tired, you are hurt. _

 

I sigh, try to close my eyes. Guilt hangs over me, like if a light was shining below me and it was a shadow on the ceiling. It follows my every movement, visible only if I look up at someone other than me and you. Only if I look away from my small world of two.

 

I'm still not sure what happened last night. All I know is the girl, the car, the cold water. Everything was cold last night.

You tried to make things better, probably, but things  _ hurt _ and you didn't have control over yourself. Maybe, through the haze of clear liquid that burned my throat and stinging tears that dripped on your shirt- I- I forgot. Maybe, when you came with the same shit that made me lose all self consciousness last night, I said something about it. I’ve never said anything about it, even in my words.

But weren’t we at your house?

 

Yesterday was Sunday. I spent most of the day by myself, but when the sun set, I tried to find an old treehouse of mine.

I had your nalgene in my backpack; it burnt a hole in my back, I knew it was there. Daring me. Tempting me. I resisted, trekking through the fallen needles and sharp, cold air.

On Friday, you ran. I didn't know why. And then I was running, too, running. 

The only thing left of the fort in the forest was black, charred wood. Lightning had struck, probably. It had been years since I'd even thought of the place, but that was one thing too much. Too much. My backpack was on the ground and the bottle was in my hands, and man, I got lost. 

She came. Abby. There were a lot of tears. Not really sure why. I've never actually talked to her.

And then, I was with you, brushing pine needles and dirt out of my hair and whispering things that were supposed to be calming. 

How did I wake up in my own bed?

 

“Come on, Josh, let’s go,” A bell has rung and you close the notebook delicately in not- so- delicate hands. Across the room, the girls have put The Odyssey back into their Jansport backpacks and don’t even try to hide their stares at our dark-ringed eyes and my probably glaringly obvious hangover. 

It’s not like it’s easy to tell you feel like shit, but you wince when you stand up too quickly. My head is pounding and I can only imagine how you feel, since I’ve even been drinking gatorade all morning. Your lips purse, and I can remember that, holy shit, I remember that. That scared me, just like it scares me now. Maybe. My fight-or-flight instincts can't quite decide if you're safe or not. You caused the problem, but you're my only solace from it now. 

You've got your own slew of shit as well. A hell of a family, and that nagging problem with alcohol. You're not an alcoholic- seventeen year olds can't get that much to drink- but you're something different altogether. Mostly, you're lonely. I think.

We’re out in the hallway, now, and you’ve been digging through your backpack for what I hope isn’t that goddamn waterbottle.  

“Here, come here, what were you gonna do during lunch today?” You ask. It’s a block day, you’re supposed to have AP US History and this is supposed to be my day to help out in the photo darkroom. It's my lunch, and we're kids. We're supposed to go to class, go join clubs-

"Josh?"

I open my mouth to answer, "I, uh I-"

“Well, fuck that, you’re coming with me, ok prettyboy?” You hand me the nalgene, still with a few inches of pure bad decision in the bottom. Fuck.

There’s two things I can do. I can ignore you, probably lose you forever. Go hide to the back of my mind and stay there. 

Or, I can go against my gut, and follow you wherever your twisted mind takes us. 

I hold out the nalgene and unscrew the cap while you pour it in. No going back. 

Your fingers linger on mine as you hold the bottle still. I glance up, taking in your jaw, your neck, with a red mark.

Holy shit, did I do that?

“Alright prettyboy, let’s get fucked up. I’ve got a car for the day,” You almost whisper.

Adrenaline shoots through my fingers, I’m almost numb again. Prettyboy. You like me enough to give me alc again. Fuck, Tyler Joseph might not just be fucking with me. Prettyboy. 

Is this okay?

 

It burns, again, and I swig more to try to numb it. Shit. I’m ditching class right now, I’m ditching class. Whose bad decision let me skip class? It’s not even class. Just extra credit club stuff. Shut up. 

“Ay, so what do you want to do?” I try to ask, shoving my guilt down. Be excited. Do I know what I'm doing? No, relax. You picked this. 

You laugh. “I told you, I got a car. It’s out in the lot. That sounds like a good place to start, eh?” I nod. “Keep drinking that shit too, yeah? Get that down.” 

I sit on the steps while you check your phone. You bring your bottle up to your mouth, but the level of the liquid doesn’t seem to change when you bring it back down. Are you not trying to get drunk? Maybe you don’t like drinking. I swig again, hoping things will start to blur, maybe they will. I'm already dehydrated from being hungover, I haven't eaten a thing all day, maybe we could find a hot tub? There's that hot tub method I read about, if we really wanna get drunk.

Sharp logic dulls to impulse as I trace a finger along your neck, around that big red thing. Yeah, that's right, I did that big red thing. 

A giggle escapes my lips as you take my hand and pull me up. Of course you like drinking, what was I thinking earlier? That's why you're drinking with me now. How long were we sitting there, anyways? Long enough for it to kick in. Maybe not for you, but hey, you're not a lightweight. 

We go through the heavy double doors to the outside, where wind whips the trees and pulls at my hair and your shirt. I can almost see your stomach, your perfect, faintly lined stomach. It's pretty. Like you. 

You’re talking about some rager you threw last year, back when I was still a freshman, back when I barely knew who you were. I mean, I knew your name. Everyone knows your name. Actually, I just knew your name until Wednesday last week. 

The cold November air stings at my eyes and ears as we make our way towards the senior parking lot. I can feel it setting in, finally, feel my eyes zone out. Everything is funny, even when I trip on the concrete curb and skin my knee. You pull me up and wrap your arm around me, and I gladly lean in. 

Fuck. It’s happening again. 

You laugh, with perfect teeth. Clear eyes. I wonder where we are going.

Where did my notebook go? Your notebook? You smell good. 

I feel you hum. I look at your hands, they’re fascinatingly big. Big enough to cover my palm when I hold it. There’s a callous on your second finger, your middle finger. I trace it, and snicker. I’m flipping myself off. Your hands are cool, strong enough to break things. I like your hands. Cooler than mine, only weak enough to reach out for balance when I’m kicking a ball. There’s no callouses on mine. I hold your hand up in the reflection of a green car. 

Oh, that’s right. We were going to the senior parking lot, to a car. 

You’re still talking about a party, about dares you’ve done. I drink again, almost dropping the goddamn vodka. Rain starts to drop, and your hands are ever so slightly sweaty. 

Maybe it's 'cause you're nervous. 

“Tyler,” I ask, somehow getting the words out, ”Tyler, do you love me?”

You stop, midstep, probably mid sentence. “What?”

“Do you love me? Do I mean anything to you?”

“Yeah of course, what are you-”

“What about-” 

“About what?”

“What’s- what’s her name? Abby? With the tits?”

“Well,” You start, then stop. We reach the car. “Maybe. She’s just a girl. And you’re… you’re you. I don’t know. And you won’t remember this, anyways, so don’t worry. “ You take the keys out of your pocket with a rattle and laugh to yourself. “You don’t even know what love is, anyways, prettyboy. Do you?”

“I know I love you,” I smile.

“You’re drunk,” you say, and shove the keys in the lock. “And I love you when you’re drunk.” 

That’s enough for me, because all I am is drunk. “Love you too,” I grin and take a swig of vodka, finish it off. The world spins as I throw my head back, and I fall on the car as you finally get the front door open. I see a clock on the dashboard- 12:48. 12:48? Damn, how long has it been? Five days since I lost my  _ virginity,  _ should I be embarrassed that I'm keeping track? Kids like you did this stuff back in, like, the fifth grade. 

Back to the kid, you in front of me. Who I lost it to. And you lost it, but not the same way I did, you, I mean, you lost your mind for a bit. 

 

“Well, prettyboy, what do you want to do?”

I laugh and grab your neck, almost falling into you. “I think you know what I want to do.” My thumbs press into the soft, tan skin, and you breathe a little bit faster. 

You arch an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

I reach for the handle of the backdoor of the car, and pull it open. “Get in.”

“Want music, prettyboy?”

“You’re drunk,” I taunt, "You can't- ya can't stop saying that goddamn prettyboy shit," I slur and fall onto the old leather seat. It smells like boy, like sweatshirts and rainy nights and the sandy dirt baseball fields and sweet bubblegum.

The front door closes with a soft thud and you open the back right door a little wider and lean over me. Cold rain blows in, and I crawl back so you can come all the way in. My back presses into the side of the car as you reach behind you and close the door to the wind. 

Shivers go down my spine as your dark ringed eyes meet mine, and my fingers curl with anticipation.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll through the music, read it to me in almost a purr. “Bon iver? Postal service? Lumineers? Death cab for cutie?” You’re just messing with me now, letting the excitement fill me up like a balloon ready to burst. Maybe. 

I laugh at your seriousness. How can you- I mean, the world is spinning. You’re spinning. You’re my world. See what I did there? I laugh again, giggles falling out of my lips. 

"Kanye? Chance? Ed Sheeran?"

“Here, give me that,” I reach for your phone as you're still scrolling. You give it to me, wrap your fingers around mine. Rain batters the roof of the car as your heat reaches through the layers of fog in my mind. Your knee digs into my thigh as my heart beats faster. Your breathing comes in rasps, it’s faster, you’re warming up, and all I can see is you, I’m feet- inches- millimeters away from feeling you, tasting you, as you lean down with full lips and damp brown hair and shiny eyes like an angel coming from above-

“Where’s your halo?” I crack up. "Y'know, cause you're an angel, or, like, whatever-"

You stop. Then seem you remember the way my breath smells. Come closer, tantalizingly closer, so when you speak I can feel the thrum on my chest and your lips form the words against mine.

“Oh, prettyboy, I think I lost it on you.”


	2. 11/15 Later Monday: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh is still drunk off his ass (but he can't convince himself that he isn't sober) and struggles through the rest of the day. Is anything he's thinking legitimate, or is just delirious rambling in the back of his mind?  
> Can he figure out exactly what happened to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's this

 

A cold, metal stool digs into my butt. I barely wince. 

Whatever Mr.Jensen is saying, I can’t hear it. There’s a fuzz, pure euphoria, pure distraction, blocking anything other than that boy. That boy.

My fingertips spark with energy, the boy. That boy. Angel boy. Angel boy with an angel car and an angle smile and angel hands, no, those hands, they didn’t burn like Sunday. 

Angel boy is probably still drunk. You’re a weird, clear-eyed drunk that I can’t wrap my head around. Obviously, you weren’t clear minded, and still aren’t. Goddamn it. You did it again.

I smile, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and it's dry and I can't keep my mind straight  _ and you called me prettyboy.  _

You said I was- I am??- beautiful, with your calloused fingers tangled in my hair, breathed the words on my neck. Me. 

Angel boy, you don’t know what you did to me.

‘Cause, you know, normally, happiness doesn’t reach me this easily. Although, normally, things like this don’t happen. But this isn’t normality?

A world twisted by a stomach that shifts uneasily. It knows there’s something that doesn’t belong, it knows bad decisions rest deep within. Time for the bad decisions to catch up? I already caught the good consequences, pushed i to that old, cracked leather, I could taste your sweat, why can’t I think of anything but that?

And, it’s coming. My stomach heaves. Feet hit the ground, off that metal stool. Run, try to run straight, the whole world is watching, the vinegar of those freshly cleaned tables is getting to your head. To the bathroom, in a stall with numbers and dicks etched in the fading blue paint. There’s a smiley face, and I grin back at it as I wipe my lips. All done. 

When I come back to the room, the biology room with the black lab tables and sharp scalpels I shouldn’t touch, they ask. First words that have breached my mind, other than your  _ prettyboy,  _ in hours. 

"You good?"

“Nodon’tworryI’mfine,” Almost coherent. I smile. 

“Seriously, Josh, are you ok? You can go-”

“I’m good,” I say and sit back down on the grey metal. It’s cold to the touch, again. Rain assaults the windows as he continues talking, and I keep drinking. It’s blue this time, blue and salty and sweet. 

Please, could you think straight? 

I stare at the notebook, your notebook, at my lab table. Concentrate. 

Get it together. 

Were you serious? There’s no way you couldn’t have been. Maybe this is real? I’m probably still a secret. It’ll come out, cause you made me, last Wednesday, you made me and I didn’t even mean to. 

Except, no one cared. Except, it was fine because I think you are too, I think I’m not as isolated as I should be. Are you still fucking with me?

There's a crumpled up sticky note on the ground and I laugh. It's funny. It's bright yellow, and someone left it behind. 

“Hey, bud, got any left?” He- Denis?- snickers into my ear. I jump.

“What?”

He grins. “Bruh, you stumble into the room fifteen minutes late, run out ten minutes later, probably puke, and come back in probably still as fucked up as you were an hour ago. Lemme guess. Lightweight, so probably something hard. Gin?”

I snort. Stay cool, stay cool. “Yeah, as if. You think- you think I’m drunk? Really?” I slap the table, willing myself not to fall out of the seat. "Ha."

The others at our table, actually doing the lab, seem oblivious to me. Or maybe they’re just being nice. 

“Dude,” He looks away, searching for Mr. Jensen, then glances back. “Dude. You gotta hook me up with this. Who was she?”

“Uh…” I fold the lab paper in my hands, creasing and uncreasing. “Uhhhh, well, you don’t know her, she’s from another school-”

“Bs. But okay man, I get it. Need a ride home?” A nasty smile is tugging at the corner of his lips, and I know I can't let this kid take me anywhere. 

“Um…I actually take the bus...”I mutter, running my hands through my hair.

He pauses, studying my face, before nodding. “Yeah, I gotchu. You can sleep this off, yeah?”

There’s nothing else to do, so I nod. “Yeah.”

When bio is over, and I can finally stumble out of the sharp-smelling room, Denis smiles at me. “Later. Text me if you need anything? Next time you got anything?”

“Yeah.”

When he walks away, I turn sharply to the painted brick wall and lean against it. My head feels like it’s going to fly away. Fuck. I need to sleep. 

I look down at my phone, cracked across the top. His number sits at the top of the “new contacts” list, and I hover over the delete button. Should I talk to him? No, he was just being nice because he thinks I can hook him up with something.

I close the app and wander towards the front of the school, trying to stay on my feet while looking for sleep and dark-ringed brown eyes. Who cares about class, when you're wandering around campus?


	3. 11/10 that Wednesday Night: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy. I redid some of it.  
> there's some triggers and I promise I'm not romanticizing anything.

It was last Wednesday, actually. Pretty early in the evening. Maybe six or seven. 

We'd pregamed, but still, the game was boring. 

Anton scored, or something. We were watching the basketball game, but I didn't give two shits about the goddamn sport. I was there for the afterparty. The crowd went fuckin' wild, and I stood up and cheered with the rest of 'em. We weren't drunk yet. I mean, not really. It's pretty hard to sit through a high school basketball game without some Mike's in your system.

It was varsity, and I saw you at the game. You had black stripes under your eyes, a bright red shirt on. Black jeans. Red bandana around your head. School spirit, man. You and your sophomore buddies were in the front rows, passing around a gatorade. Ha. Anyone with eyes could see there  _ clearly  _ was alcohol in it, and you and your friends were so  _ bad  _ at just casually drinking. It was pretty cringe, but kind of cute. 

You'd squint your eyes up, but try to pretend like you weren't gagging with the taste. What was it, Svedka? Twenty dollars it was Svedka. Classic cheap liquor.

Actually, Cass was the first to notice it. She was sitting close enough I could see down her little red top, I knew she wanted me to. Anton was pretty far away, and besides, I knew she wanted me. 

God, she's a piece of work. She's hot, but a bitch, like Abbs. I mean, Abby's my girlfriend, as in we take the pictures and go to prom and I meet her parents with a smile and a handshake, and they pretend they don't know who I am. When it came to partying, though, I was normally with Cass. Or whatever freshman wandered by that night. Abby was off with that fuckwad Denis, normally. I didn't care. 

Once Anton won, he changed and I went to get the liquor. I mean, I was the one with the fake. I was a little lightheaded, to tell the truth. But I've driven drunk plenty of times, and normally I'm  _ wasted. _ I was, like, barely buzzed at that point.

The cheaper liquor store had less homeless people camped outside- normally, if you needed something fast, there were a couple people outside the more expensive one. It was right down the street from the school. They'd get you a handle if you popped them a five. I needed a lot, though, and they normally don't let homeless people just buy a shit ton of liquor. Worried they might kill themselves, or something. 

The guy behind the counter threw me a second look when I handed him the ID.

"You really out to party on a Wednesday?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah," I nodded, and gave him that  _ adult  _ smile. 

"Alright," he said, glancing back down at the ID, "Mr. Donne,"

I threw two hundreds on the table. Charlie, one of Anton's filthy rich friends, had slipped them to me before I left.  

"Five handles of- ah- UV Blu, couple 'a packs 'a bud, throw in some- actually, hold up." I bit my lip. "Just, like, a shit ton of vodka, and, like, one thing 'a fireball."

He looked at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "Gotta house to feed."

He ducked below the counter, pulling up the fireball and setting it up top. "You at the university?"

I almost questioned him, but stopped myself. According to my ID, I was 21. I guess I went to college in town. "Yeah," I said. "majoring in psych." 

"Nice," he said, returning with a bunch of liquor in his arms. I almost jumped up and down like a little kid. It was going to be a fucking  _ lit  _ party.

I grabbed the first load of UV and bud. My money was on the counter, so he let me go. I came back and carried the second bunch, loading it into the back of the car. 

I shut the door of the car and grinned. Anton was gonna love it.

When I pulled my car into the driveway of the address I'd been sent, Anton jumped out the front door.

"How much you'd get, man?" He slurred, stumbling and slapping my back.

"A shit ton," I laughed, opening the trunk of the car to show him.

His face lit up. "Holy fuck," he laughed, wrapping an arm around me. "This is going to be  _ amazing." _

  
  


An hour later, with a fair amount of sugary liquor in my stomach, I was lounging on the couch with a plastic crown on my head. Anton was commanding the attention of the crown by attempting to play flip cup on well over fifteen shots. He'd pulled tequila from his parent's liquor cabinet, but still, everyone was wasted. We were burning through all the stuff we could find. Shrieks of laughter echoed throughout the house as Cassie ran her hands through my hair.

She was drunk, but not as drunk as she was acting. Girls used that as an excuse to act dumb. I mean, when you're a girl, everything drunk you does is cute or sexy or whatever. When you're a guy, people just laugh or call you a creep.

Muttering something about softness, she kept leaning in closer and closer. I knew when we made eye contact, it was over. Anton had to leave. I needed him out of the picture. Either he had to pass out, or we had to leave.

A wave of guilt passed through my stomach, followed by jealousy.

He was my friend, I couldn't just do this to him. There were so many other girls there. 

Why'd he get to have the attention of everyone? He'd already won the damn game, but who brought the alc?  _ I did.  _ It shoulda been me getting the laughter.

Maybe attention was the trade off for getting Cass. Maybe.

She traced her fingers along my cheek, and  _ no, _ she was too easy. I could get her later. I wanted the crowd.

All I needed was an excuse to get away without hurting her. Then I needed to do something. She was whispering, now, lips brushing my ear. I shivered, ran my hand along the curve of her hip, it would be so easy…

I shook myself out of it. Her or attention. I wanted to earn my reputation. Senior year hadn't made me lame.

"Hey, who invited freshmen?" Charlie shouted, voice breaking through the crowd. He pointed to the door. 

You. Of course it had to be you. You and your buddies had stumbled into the house, maybe the wrong house, a couple hours late. The party was in full swing. It was probably, like, ten. 

"Hey, yeah, who the hell let 'em in?" Anton chimed in, steadying himself on the table. "That's fucking  _ lame. _ " 

Some freshmen were allowed, but those were the gullible hot girls.

Almost everyone else chimed in, but there had to be someone who knew they were sophomores. Someone other than me had to know.

But no, no one would step up. I wanted you at that party, and someone had to step up. And I wanted off of Cass. 

Gently pushing her off me, I stood up with a can in my hand.

"Ay- hey, they're sophomores," I shouted, waving my hands. "They're cool, y'know? I said they could come. I invited them."

I took a swig of the beer, then looked at Anton. He shrugged, but Charlie was pissed off. 

You filled in with the rest of your friends, shooting me a grateful look. I grinned back. Everyone went back to doing their own shit, but I went over to the flip cup table. Not good to have shit going on in the group.

"Hey, man," I put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, "you good?"

He looked up, glowering. "You let fucking  _ children _ stay."

"Hey, hey, hey, it's all good." 

"They're gonna take all the alc!" He moaned. "They're gonna throw it all up."

"No, it'll be okay." Cass came over, defending me. She was playing fucking games, again, as she usually did. "They're probably cool, if Tyler invited them."

Charlie shrugged. "Whatever, man."

I won a game of flip cup, with the crown still perched on my head. Leaning on the wall, I watched you explore your way through the party. You tried to hit on a girl- Georgia, maybe- a gorgeous blonde with shorts that were barely there. Leaning forward, you said something, and she slapped your face. A blush spread across your cheeks and you leaned heavily on the wall. I started to have some sympathy. I mean, you were kind of a kid. 

But then again, you were drunk. Your decision. Probably your first time drinking, poor kid, and you had no idea that you were a lightweight, or even that you had a limit. If you had been a girl, a perfect hit for the night. There was no way you could remember anything, all innocent and cute, tight little skinny jeans and falling over.

You made your way across the room, back to the overly-sweetened bright pink punch, out of the blue bowl. You didn’t even glance at the hard stuff- the vodka, the tequila, it probably scared you more than that overly- flavored pussy shit. You shoulda been scared of the punch more than anything else. At least you can be fairly certain plain vodka is plain. If it's in the bowl, anything can be in it. When you come to a party with my friends, though,  _ never  _ drink out of the blue bowl. It's the rule of thumb. Green bowl is supposed to be safe, but the blue bowl is totally a free for all. Not like you'd know that, though, stumbling your way through the pounding music and hazy smoke. 

I laughed when I first saw you trip over a foot, then jump back in surprise when you saw it belonged to a mostly-naked body next to the couches and the dancefloor full of grinding kids. 

I think they saw me watching you. 

“Hey, yo, Tyler, just a question- you gay?” Charlie said. The world spun when I shook my head vigorously. “Naw, man, I dunno where she is. Just looking for someone.” 

“Abby? You mean Abby?” Anton swigged the beer he held in his hand,”I think- I think saw her go down on that junior- Denis?” 

I shrugged. “Don’t care. I was looking for a freshman.”

Nothing I could do about Abbs, and not like I was upset. She didn’t get upset about the week before- a Saturday, some clueless freshman, almost as gullible as you. I couldn’t get upset about her. What was that girl’s name, anyways? Alexis? She had a nice arse, long, red hair. That was a good night, I think. Haven’t heard of or talked to Alexis since, so I would say it went well.

“You should go hit on him.” They all laughed, and I laughed back.

“Who’s him?”

“Aw come on,” Cass giggled, “The kid you’ve been mind fucking for at least ten minutes.”

“Mind fucking??”

“Come on, skinny jeans in the corner. Come on, man. Come on. Don’t fuckin wimp out.” Anton tossed me a bottle, and I almost dropped it. “One more shot and you’re off.”  

“I told you, I’m not gay.” I had an idea. It was gross, but I'd made the trade off. Attention for Cass. I turned and she smiled at me, raising her eyebrows. 

“No seriously, get the kid. Lead him on. See how far you can get him to go. Would you fuck another kid in the arse?” Anton laughed. 

“You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” Charlie slapped me on the back. “Come on, Abby is off sucking some poor kid’s dick and you’ve gotta prove you’ve still got it. Let’s goooo,”

The crown tipped over my right ear, and I straightened it as I thought. Was this weird? A little bit. Was it ballsy? Totally. 

I glanced at Cass, and she winked. She was in, so I was down. 

“Watch this, guys.” I tipped back a shot of tequila and stood up, shaking my hands and bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Imma go get ‘em.”

They all hooted and the music pounded in my ears. Loud, loud enough for reason to cease to exist, loud enough it beat through your veins. Any other kid, I wouldn't do it. I knew you from class, or something. You never pointed out the fact that I was drunk, and you did my homework sometimes. You were cute. Thank god it was you. 

Of course, you would let it all happen. Even if you weren’t gay, you could barely stand up. I turned back, to make sure they were all watching. Time to go.

I went, grabbed two solo cups full of something that was surely laced with shit, and made my way to you. I came from the kitchen, the crown tilted over my ear again and a grin on my face. Your face lit up as soon as you saw me- someone familiar, some attention. Maybe you would feel less out of place. Attention to someone who craves it gets you anything. 

“Hey… look who it is! Joshua!!” I grinned and handed you the cup. The punch. “Drink up, kid, it’s been a long night.” You took it and smiled that wide, bright smile, and I stood a little bit too close. “So what do you think? First high school party??”

“Man, Tyler, this is-” You stopped to watch the dancers- the grinders- behind me, probably fascinated by the way they shamelessly carried themselves. I knew you would come back to me, I knew the punch would hit your system at some point. 

“Yeah?” I watched you expectantly. “You ever drink before?”

The song slowed, and then changed. You turned your eyes back to me. “Huh? Oh, no, not really, I mean- this shit is waaaay outta my league.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s weird the first time, but, you know,” I put my hand on the wall behind you, leaned in with a smile,”you know, you seem to fit in well.”

“I do?”

“Hell yeah, I mean, this is fun, right? You like it? You aren’t scared?”

“No, I’m not scared!” You got that goofy grin on your face again. “How did I miss out on this as a freshman?”

“You’re too cute to go to parties as a freshmen.” I smiled and almost slapped your arse. “You would get eaten alive.”

I heard the hoots behind me- they thought I really went for you. I could tell it was all going over your head. “Hey, you good?”

Your eyes snapped back to mine. “Yeah! No, I’m fine- it’s just- a lot of drinking- you know-”

“Don’t puke, dude.”

“I won’t! I wouldn’t do that!” 

I laughed. “We all do, J. Don’t even worry.”

You looked down again, almost ashamed. “I just-”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t-” You stopped, not meeting my eyes. What was going on? “I don’t know, I keep wanting to do something- like, you know? I’m sure you know,”

Holy shit. This was perfect, just like a drunk girl. The flirting, then the trust, confession of something, normally about an ex she couldn’t get over or some bullshit, and then, I'd make my move. She'd always trust me after she told about her life. 

I nodded, putting my hand on the wall behind you, inching closer and closer. I could smell your shampoo through the haze of BO and liquor and weed. It was nice. Probably coconut. “Yeah?”

“Should I be, like, losing my virginity? Should I not be? I’m drunk, it’s the perfect time, but like, also, I’m drunk, and it’s probably not a good idea-” you mumbled, eyes closing a bit. 

“From personal experience? Don’t do it.”

You laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“But, on the other hand…” I leaned closer. “On the other hand… you’re not drunk all the time. Wanna try something new?”

Nodding, your eyes widened. 

And before I could convince myself otherwise, I wrapped my hand around the back of your neck and pressed my lips to yours, the most platonic a kiss could be. 

And when you didn’t pull away, I pushed in further, flattening your back against the wall. Your lips parted, just a bit. You had an idea, at least, of what you were doing. Shit, it was wrong that it felt good. 

When I leaned back, my nose inches from yours, I had no idea what I saw in your eyes. 

“Was that for real?” You hummed, almost laughed into my chest. “You can’t seriously mean that.”

No backing down now, the guys were dying behind me. I didn’t know what else to do, other than lean back in towards your sticky sweet lips and run my hands down your warm sides, through your hair, move to the music. Like you were a girl. 

Your arms wrapped around me, one still clutching the cup. Maybe you were into this. The wall wouldn’t move, so I pinned you against it. I heard Cass yell at me, but for once, I couldn’t look away for her. Eventually, they went silent as neither of us pulled back, neither of us slowed down. 

Things only got faster as you got more comfortable, as I figured out what you liked. You were easy, easy, easy to impress. Too drunk to care. 

Who knew what time had slowed to, or even if it stopped, on that wall by the kitchen. Pretty chocolate brown eyes stared into mine, just for a second, and I knew what was next. 

Maybe natural instinct pulled you up the stairs with me, maybe this had happened enough times my body just knew what to do with a barely functioning brain. Talk to the girl, compliment her, be bold get her a drinkgetherupstairs.

Except, you weren’t the same as a girl. You felt brand new, like I was fourteen again. I tried to convince myself it was the tequila, it was whatever they had put in there that made me so goddam in to this, in to you. I couldn’t, I didn’t understand that maybe, actually, it was just you. 

That hallway, with baby pictures and family vacations to the beach hanging in nice frames on the wall, it lasted forever. The music still found i’s way to my ears as I let myself go, forgetting you had drank out of that cup and I hadn’t. It was probably only twenty minutes before you started falling, but those twenty minutes were something I had never had.

You still held the red solo cup in outstretched fingers as you searched my eyes, looking for something. I stared back. What had I gotten myself into? Your fingers traced the faint lines across my stomach, across my hips, sending chills down my back and spine. I groaned without meaning to, and almost jumped. Fuck. This was something from another world. 

Charlie, Anton, the boys stood at the bottom of the stairs open-mouthed. They probably expected me to be done, go back to hitting on Cass. Either, I was the craziest, horniest kid they had ever known, or I really was into you. I don’t think even I knew that night. 

You tasted, you smelled, you felt unlike anything I had ever felt. And although I definitely shouldn’t have, I liked it. I liked you. Wide eyes, and your raspy breathing in my ear when I sucked the soft skin of your neck struck a chord in me. Something twinged. 

You were as eager as I was, I think, and you let me push you to the wall and take you where I wanted to go. Pulled at my back and at my shirt, ran your hands over my arse and, eventually working up the courage to grab it. I laughed in to your lips, and that’s when you started to limp off. Tick tock. Time was up. Rope in the punch was kicking in. Shit. 

I knew this well. It’s when I remembered who I was, and decided whether she wouldn’t care, and if she would, if she was fucked up enough not to remember. With you, I didn’t even hesitate. Down the hallway, out of their view. Your red shirt went up and over your head, we went into a room with a soft blue rug and green curtains. The paint from under your eyes was mostly smudged off, and your bandana was long lost. Your eyes were wide, but could still tell what was going on as you stumbled across the room under my arm. I knew you couldn’t do anything, even if you wanted to. 

So? You chose to come to a party and get drunk. Even if you said something (and you wouldn’t), no one would believe you. And I was drunk too. And you were almost the same size as me. You weren’t fighting, either- you liked it. And I wasn’t the one who spiked the punch, I was just smart enough to avoid it. This was your fault, if it was anyone's fault. Nothing had gone wrong yet. 

Big, full lips parted as you groaned. We slid down the wall, you were still on your back. Bass still thumped like a heartbeat in my ears, and I opened my eyes to the skin of your jawbone. Pulling myself up to reach your lips, I relaxed on top of you, biting the soft pink skin. 

The white wooden door opened with a click, and Anton dragged a giggling Cass in. My head whipped around and my eyes met Anton’s, who stared in disbelief. “Holy shit…”

I glared, daring him to do anything. This was not his time to fuck things up, not today, not right now. “Tyler, you serious…?” I nodded, challenging him to say anything. Hell fucking yeah I’m serious, I can take down whoever the fuck I want. 

He shook his head and backed out the door, grabbing the laughing girl by the waist, “Come on, Cass, this room’s taken…” 

I pulled off my sweat-soaked white t shirt and looked back down, you smelled different. Your mouth was slack with almost animal fear. Panic came off you in waves- wait, were you a virgin? Had we been over it yet? I put it down to that, smiled, smoothed your hair back from your face. “Shh, it’s okay, I gotchu. I gotchu. It’ll be fine.”

I think you smiled before you reached your hand up, your small, square hand, to pull me back down? The fear seemed gone when I couldn’t see anything but what I felt, your stomach, the sides of your hard arse, the fog covering everything else. 

Somehow, you were laying on your stomach, and I was looking at the freckles by your shoulderblades. You couldn’t say anything now, and I laughed. “You’re so pretty.” 

Screaming laughter floated up through the floor as I pulled those cute black skinny jeans down. Like nothing I had ever seen. 

Your back, it arched like nothing I had ever felt. Muscles strained against my thighs, my stomach, and your hair held my fingers better than any limp blonde strands ever had. You groaned, and something woke up inside that I had never known existed before. Fuck. I felt like a fourteen year old again, feeling this for the first time, smelling this, hearing you. Nothing to do but keep going, listen to the music, the heavy breathing, hope to god I’m doing it right, please tell me I’m doing this right. Just keep doing it. 

Something, a feeling, shot through my stomach, was it guilt?

No. But it wasn’t completely innocent, either. 

I remember, I was on my back in that soft blue carpet, I saw your half-closed eyes with your thick eyelashes, your soft, sweaty hair framed your face. One cheekbone had carpet indents pressed into it. “Prettyboy,” I smiled, I think, and reached out to stroke your cheek. Gravity got a lot stronger, and my hand and eyelids were too heavy.

The night was mostly gone after that. I was too tired, too drunk, too high from secondhand pot. I remember trying to wake you up, forgetting you had been fucked up even before the green bowl punch. Somehow I made it down the stairs, with you mostly buck-naked and mumbling in my ear. 

Someone fuckin let me drive a car with you in the passenger seat. Like I said, I've done worse driving than slightly buzzed.

Maybe, because you ended up home and I ended up at a house, someone was nice enough to call an uber. I remember your whispered, barely-awake address in my ear, your first-floor bedroom burned into my mind. No screen. Sliding window.

In and out, quick and easy, I got back in the car and crashed at Anton’s.

 

Now, I can see you through the doorway. This was the hardest Thursday to wake up to, even for me. I’m surprised you’re even walking.

I actually got to class on time for you, today. I haven’t seen you for at least three hours. Who knows actually how long. 

You walk towards the door, I think you’ve seen me. I quickly look around the hallway, no one’s watching. Before I can turn to see you, to talk to you, I feel the same red-solo-cup-holding arms wrap around me, the carpet-indented cheekbone press into my chest. 

“Hey, kid,” I put my arms around your freckled shoulder blades, around your arching back. “Hey kiddo.”

“Hey,” You murmur in o my shirt. I wait for you to say something more. You look up, thick eyelashes and chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“Did last night- did you- really happen?” 

I smile. “How you holding up?”

You laugh. “Like shit. Sore, headache, I feel like I forget most of it.”

“Yeah?” I wonder if you know what I did to- what we did. 

The bell rings, and you pull away. Class. School. Work. Back to the real world. “Yeah, Josh? You forgot the entire night?”

“Yeah, most of it, but,I do remember…that.” You grin, turn, and walk back into the class. 

As I watch the back of your head, sweaty-soft-shampoo-face-framing hair, make it’s way back to where we sit, I want to scream. What do you mean? Did I fuck up?

Do you even know what happened? 

Do I even know what happened?


	4. 11/11 Thursday Morning: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh sees Tyler for the first time... since the night.  
> Or, in a few hours. But to Josh, it's lifetimes away.  
> Tyler wants to move on, and Josh agrees that it's best to forget, but he can't help but wonder;  
> why does he insist on still liking Tyler?  
> (some minimal fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4. sorry for the long wait, I've written this chapter about 5 times and it hasn't seemed right until now.  
> now, it's as perfect as it's going to get. and there's a whole story, too. as in the rest of the chapters are ready.  
> this is going to hurt, guys. not this chapter. but later.  
> please leave comments about anything and everything, I really do care what you think.  
> stay street

6:30. I could barely open my eyes.

And, of course, I didn’t believe my own head when I woke up. Not that I had any reason to. You barely existed at that point.

The cold of my room bit into my exposed face- the window was still open. Normal. I licked my chapped lips. Normal. Pounding headache. Normal. Cotton dry mouth. Normal.

Stand up. Out of bed, lose some gravity. Back into the routine. Life, because dreams aren’t real. Bathroom, because teeth still need to be brushed. A lingering ache of bad decisions that didn’t exist.

But what’s not normal? What can I not pretend is fine? The circles, blue under my eyes, red. Under my jaw. My collarbone. The mirror glared back at me, the truth slapped me in the face. That was real. Last night.

You? You were there? Of course you were. There were those stairs- that hallway- and the red filled my face, because I knew what happened.

I kissed you. And they all saw. And I _liked it._

Shit. Shit. Shit. _They saw it._ Even if they didn’t care, they knew. Everyone at that goddamn party knew. You, especially.

My eyes widened when I realized that _you had seen it too._

Seen it? I almost laughed. You felt it, you knew how hungrily I pressed myself against you. Ached for you, grasped for you. Like you were some lifeline in the dark, twisted night at a house I should have never been in. I was drunk, sure, but no amount of liquor can account for the way I-

But what about you?

Didn’t you- didn’t you kiss me back?

I shook my head, it pounded angrily. No false hope, none taken or given. School, in school I would have to face you. Put it behind us. It either never happened, or we wouldn’t talk. One time thing. You didn’t kiss me.

My hands shook as I pulled a hoodie over my head. Shake, shake, almost as shaky as my thoughts. Shut up, it’s fine. No, it’s not. Shouldn’t have been in that house. Shouldn’t like you. It’s okay. Just being overdramatic. Forget about it.  A ping pong game of voices, arguing, because who was to blame here?

The only one I didn’t listen to was the voice that questioned what I couldn’t remember through the haze of booze and smoke.

What _did_ you do?

 

That was the question everyone was asking with their eyes. I sat in that room- our room, because I would see you. Soon.

Yellow walls beamed at me, a plastic chair dug in to my ass. Bitter coffee stained the back of my throat.

 

They all knew. They talked, laughed, whispered, stared. My hood could only go up so high- and even then, it was still blaringly obvious how not okay that morning was.

You, I kept thinking I saw you. I got there early, even there there wasn’t a possibility of you being in that room on time. At first I kept my back to the door, waiting, hoping you wouldn’t show up.

Of course you eventually would. What would I do? You knew. I couldn’t just ignore you. Besides- I mean-

I kind of _liked_ you.

Sweaty palms wiped on my sweaty jeans, and I knew you were coming. You, Tyler Joseph, who I kissed last night. Drunk, sure, but it happened. Lips touched lips. I had felt you smile and laugh, thrumming deep in your chest. Maybe that was the bass of the music, maybe. Maybe I was making all of this up. This may be the most confused I’ve ever been.

My fingers tapped on the desk, running through scenarios in my head in vain. What would I do? Girls laughed at a table behind me. I thought I heard my name. Why would they care? They just liked you, even though you had a girlfriend, who you cheated on every other weekend. Not that you seemed to care, or that she was off with that sophomore whenever she could be. Did you even talk to her?

I was facing the door, back turned to the windows, to any hope of the outside. Ten minutes before class, there was no way you’d be there. Who knew what you’d do when you were? I flipped a dictionary off the table into my lap, flipped to a random page and read.

Apex, v. To reach a high point or a climax.

Next page.

Eviscerate, v. To deprive something of essential content.

Flip, because the time had to somehow be passed.

Puerile, a. Something silly or childish.

My thumb slid along the white edge of the paper, slicing a thin line of blood into the bad. I watched the red well up in a scarlet ball and burst, sliding down into my palm. Cool.

Spin, n. A rapid whirling motion.

Spin, my head is whirling.

Enthrall, v. To capture the fascinated attention of.

I looked up, glanced at the clock, and you should’ve been there. At the door. There they were, your dark, wide, brown eyes, barely visible around the corner, I saw those.You had been watching me for a while.  My legs, I don’t know how, they stood and all eyes were on me. The room burned with anticipation. They all knew. You turned and checked over your shoulder, and I walked faster, faster, faster into those arms.

You were still facing away when I could _smell_ you, inhaling deep breaths of a night that I mostly forgot that I forgot. Warm, boy, sweat, bitter. And you felt the same, soft, when my arms wrapped around you. You stiffened, and I inhaled sharply. Sighed out when I felt your weight on my back.

Your hand, your right hand ran through my hair. “Hey, kid.” You mumbled. “Hey, kiddo.”

I ignored the stares that were sure to be pointed in our direction. “Hey.” I whispered. There was a silence, but it wasn’t stiff. I didn’t know what else to say. It was okay.

Your hand dropped, and I looked up. Eyes that had been darting around the hallway suddenly focused on mine, crystal clear. A questioned bubbled up, it burned through my lips. There was no holding back.

“Did last night- did you- really happen?”

You paused. Embarrassed, probably, but you did smile. Yes? “How you holding up?”

I laughed. Did you care, or did you just feel like you had to do that? And what was up with the hug? “Like shit. Sore, headache, I feel like I forget most of it.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes are indecipherable.

The bell rings, the six note tone a warning of oncoming reality. You ask again, holding onto my arm a little tighter before I let go.“Yeah, Josh? You forgot the entire night?”

“Yeah, most of it, but, I do remember…that.” I grinned and walked into the room. Seconds after I sat in that blue plastic chair, you were next to me. The whispers intensified.

She, he, it talked. Bad breath, onions once again. The details flew over my head as quickly as I absorbed every little movement you made. In your lap, there was a yellow notebook and a blue sharpie. I had a pencil. You wrote on the top corner of the first page and handed over to me.

_Tired?_

I snorted.

_Tired? You mean dead_

I gave it back to you, down by the floor. Inconspicuous.

You chewed on the cap before handing it back to me.

_You did get home late last night_

The teacher droned about a paper due the next week as I wrote in small, uppercase letters.

_Late as in…?_

_5?_

My eyes widened. 5 AM?

_And how would you know?_

You laughed and scribbled a quick response, grinning as you passed it back to me.

_Uber. By the way, you owe me $6. And you snore loudly._

I barked a laugh and quickly shut up when eyes turned to me. Scrawling a response, I punched you in the shoulder.

_At least I can do my own homework._

You took a moment to read it, and responded in big capital letters.

_At least I know how to not pass out when I’m drunk as fuckkkkk_

_Oh come on don’t act like you haven’t done that._

_I haven’t hit on girl only to be so wasted I didn’t even realize she slapped me…._

I laughed again, my cheeks going red.

_Can we forget that?_

When you saw what I had written, you immediately sobered and took your time to write your next note.

_Yeah, so I was thinking about that…_

_Forgetting?_

Your wide eyes met mine. “Yeah, forgetting.”

The class was separated now, in group work. Talking was okay.

“What do you mean?” Dread build up in my stomach, filling it up from the bottom. Hope was given to me, a hug, quickly written notes- was it all about to be torn away?

“We were- I mean, we were both drunk.” You smiled uneasily. “And, I know you don’t remember all of it, you don’t need to- but things got- heated?”

I nodded. This was where this was going.

“And, I think we both did things we regretted. I mean, come on man-” you slapped my arm, “it was your first time drinking and you had a solid two cups of punch!”

Laughing. Laughing was the only thing I could do.

“So, here’s the deal. I like you, kiddo, and I don’t want to hurt you. You feel okay?”

“Uh-huh.” I got that out, at least.

“Can we move on? Like, I still wanna see you, talk to you, but like, let’s put this in the past, okay?” Lying. You were lying, straight to my face. You didn’t want to talk to me. I was a mistake, an experiment to be left behind. Along with most of the guilt. All me.

You were still looking at me expectantly.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, sure, okay! See you!”

“Yeah?” You stood up, looking at me. “We good?”

“Yeah,” I said, not meeting your eye. “We’re good.”

I watched your heels, the soles of your shoes step away. I knew it was real, at least, but what was the point of it being real when I had to carry all of the guilt? What did you mean? What did last night mean to you?

The sky was grey, appropriately, because I was no longer a polarized form of black and white, positive and negative, happy and sad. My hands trembled and I prayed my bottom lip wasn’t doing the same. What was happening? Why did it matter so much? Was the night before even real? What did you mean?

Well, it was clear as hell what you meant.

I was your ill-fated guinea pig.


	5. 11/12 Friday: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler thinks about what he did, because he did do it- didn't he?  
> But no, Josh can never know. Because it would crush him.  
> Maybe running away could help.

We didn’t have a class together on Friday. Finally. Because you have no idea how much that, seeing you, fucked me up.

Me? I didn’t do anything. It was you. You got drunk.

But still, guilt ate away at my stomach. Not like any girl, because fuck it, you weren’t a girl. Somehow you didn’t remember- like, you thought we had just made out. Fucking hell. And it was my job to tell you.

Or, I could not. But the guilt came back. Those girls didn’t care. They would move on.  You wouldn’t. It was probably best if you didn’t know that I knew how you looked in your most vulnerable; the freckles on your shoulder blades weren’t for me to ever see. But I did. I saw them. I saw them, and I had to push you away because otherwise it would come spilling out.

Along with the guilt of every other person, every other hookup that had ever happened in my life. All the late night, so-drunk-she-can’t-stand, the he’s-a-senior-so-I-might-as-well, the she-won’t-know, and then you. I laughed. Downy haired, wide eyes Josh. 

“Dude, what?” Anton whispered in my ear. I blinked, back into reality. Math stared me back in the face. I shook my head. “Nothing.” He turned back to the board, pretending to watch whatever was going on. Cass would give me the homework later, so there was no point in watching.

The white walls glared at me, reflecting sunlight from the small windows in the corner of the room. It was one of those tricky winter days that looked warm, but when you stepped outside the cold bit your ears and fingers. My hoodie probably wasn’t warm enough, but I hadn’t been out since-

Since when? I could barely remember driving to school in that shitty piece of junk that was supposed to be a car. Maybe I was hungover when I woke up; maybe I was tired. You had required some heavy-duty forgetting on Thursday night.

I knew I would have to see you. Soon. Or I could completely ignore you for the rest of the year, which wouldn’t be that hard. I mean, you were only a sophomore. What did you know? It would be fine. Forget about it and it never happened. 

“Hey, so, wanna tell me, like, what happened the other night?” Anton said. 

I shrugged. “Waddya mean?”

He laughed and elbowed me. “You know? The kid? How far did you, like, go with him?”

“Second?” I fought the rising heat in my cheeks. “You know, cause you totally can with a dude.”

“I mean, that kid did have a nice ass. No homo.” He grinned. 

“True, true.” I nodded. “So where did you end up with Cass?”

“Oh, you know, same old.” I raised my eyebrow. “Yeah, not at your place, dipshit. We went back to my house. You were there, at like 6? Remember that?”

“Uhhhh,”

He punched my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you were so  _ fucked up _ from the amazing sex you had with a  _ sophomore _ you can’t remember waking me up and telling me-”

“Come on dude, I didn’t say anything to you.”  

“Yeah you did.” When I didn’t respond, he flicked my hand. “No seriously, what was that?”

I lowered my eyes and started doodling on paper with a blue sharpie. “Don’t know, honestly.”

“Tyler- I mean-” he was serious now, all the laughter gone from his voice, “Did you- “

“Did I fuck him?” I snapped. “Maybe I did.”

He leaned back, hands in the air. “Woahhhhh, okay then, calm down. It was a joke.”

“Yeah, okay.” I stood up. “See you.”

“Dude, Tyler, it’s like, thirty minutes until the bell-”

“I said, see you.” I grabbed my bag off the back of the chair and walked out of the class, ignoring the teacher’s question. Where did I think I was going? Far, far away.

The soccer fields were far enough away. I pulled the nalgene out of my backpack and-

Did I fuck you? The thought shoved everything else out of my mind. Yeah, I did. But it wasn’t just me, because you groaned, I know you did. You were awake, you felt it. You moved and your skin was warm, you weren’t dead to the world. Maybe you were?

No. I dropped to the dry, yellow grass. The sophomore PE class was out, shivering in their navy and grey shorts. Ultimate frisbee, apparently. Not that anyone could catch. 

I lifted the bottle up the my lips and let the bitterness fill my mouth, not flinching. There we go, now time would pass a little easier. I could think about Abby, go find her at some point. Baseball off season was coming up, and I had to be clean soon. I could text Cass, get the calc homework from her. I sighed, and gulped more liquor. What was it? Who knew. Vodka? Probably. Wind whipped across the field and tugged at my hoodie, pulling the strings across my chest. I shook hair out of my eyes and of course, of fucking course, I saw you. Shorts flaring up in the wind, exposing pale thighs.

I didn’t even notice I was watching you, staring at you, until you almost looked at me. I jerked my eyes away, because you couldn’t see me. You _ couldn’t  _ see me. That would make things worse. 

So I watched. Let myself see the little things. The way your hair bounced in the wind, your eyes squinting into the bright sun. How your legs bounced and stretched, eating up the yards of dead grass. You couldn’t catch a frisbee to save your life, but hell, you could run. 

Could have, should have, but didn’t. You didn’t run from me on Wednesday. 

When I saw you grin, teeth flashing, I knew you could never know. You were happy, you could move on. Wednesday could seem as platonic as a kiss could be, it could fade into the category of memories of vaguely remembered nights. There were two and a half more years left here for you, I was down to months. You could never know you didn’t run because you couldn’t. You were glued to the spot because of whatever was in that punch. The punch I gave to you. I. And I knew. The green bowl, and I knew I did it on purpose, because there was no way I went there on accident. I didn’t drink from it, but you did. You could never know what you didn’t already, you could never imagine the soft blue carpet, the green curtains, you could never hear me whispering or feel my carrying you down the stairs. All you would know is waking up, at home, with the windows left open. You would never know.

Dark brown eyes finally met mine, and your lips pulled back into a smile. “Hey, Tyler!” You were happy, delighted even, to see me. I think I saw some hope in your eyes. 

“Hey, Josh,” I shouted, waving. You turned to catch the frisbee, to sprint away from me, what you should have done that night. 

I dropped the waterbottle, picked up my bag, and ran. You had to be left behind. 


	6. 11/14 Sunday: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh is so confused he doesn't know what to do with himself.  
> Someone finds him. Not dead, not really, but almost there.  
> How does that lead to Tyler?  
> Why did Tyler run?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait for the update. I've been thinking about this chapter a lot. the next one will be a big, long one. this one had to make sense with that, it's kind of a bridge chapter. it's weird. run with me on this.  
> stay alive

On Sunday, the world dropped from beneath me. It was cold, rainy, and it had only been three days. I'd been keeping track, yeah, because Thursday and Friday and Saturday passed with the speed of melting snow.

You ran. I turned around and I saw you running, I saw the dead grass kicked up behind you. I knew we weren't going to be friends, but people don't just  _ run. _

Why did you run? I couldn’t figure it, I couldn’t figure you out. I had to run, run to the trees. I hadn’t explored them since I was young; I would sprint through them, building forts, starting fires, living away from the world. The forest was gone in my mind. Long gone. It wasn’t even a forest, where I went, there were pine trees on the side of a gravel road. That was it.

The hills used to seem so much bigger. The paths used to be longer. It used to be easier to get lost, to hide, but I couldn't hide from any of my thoughts. 

_ Am I losing my mind? _ Wind traced circles on my back; it teased me with scents long lost. Black, heavy soil and pine needles. Spin.  

_ You like to sleep alone, it’s colder than you know, _

I shivered. Losing my mind over words I had never heard, not even out of your mouth. Flipped my hood up, to block out the words. The sky was too grey. 

_ ‘cause your skin is so used to colder bones _

You weren’t cold, were you? Maybe deep within. Maybe you were, I could feel it. Something wasn’t right, it was off, you were odd, I was too warm. Too hot. The floor was too hot. But when was I ever on the floor?

My phone buzzed. No, I wasn’t going to grab it. No, not after you ran away. It was you, wasn’t it? No. I would not.

I stared at a plant, a withered dead green thing, on the ground. Maybe it had hope?

The gravel stared back. Where did my hope go? 

IT bounced around in my backpack, I could feel it. A relief from needing hope, temporary but fixing. IT was okay. I was okay. No, I wouldn’t do that, because I was fine. Fine fine fine fine, just being emotional, worrying about things that never happened, I’m being stupid, I’m being dumb, I’m being needy, just being dramatic, in fact, I’m only at it again, making up things that never happened.

You did happen. I felt you. I know, I know, I know I know I know I did, I can scream it but I still won’t believe. You, you aren’t real, because that night wasn’t, but I thought we were good? Were were fine? We aren’t upset and we are cool? But you ran away from me, yeah, I walked over to say hi and you bolted like a rabbit. Not like a friend who walks without guilt on their shoulders. 

I laughed. We were fine. Of course I was, walking on a road who knows where for who knows how long, with a question of sanity on my mind and some _ thing  _ taking up my backpack. Space in my head, because nothing else was causing thoughts. It was cool.

Oh, what was it? That bottle you left. 

And what did I do? Oh yeah, I picked it up.

After that? I held it, it burned a hole through my hands and I couldn’t bring myself to dumb out the contents. Stayed in my backpack, until Sunday, when my head wouldn’t wrap around it. My head, it was attached to you, some touchy-feely clump of nerves latched on to you, and you couldn’t just run away like that.

Big, strong things don’t run away. You’re a tiger in the world, and you took off like a mouse, little footprints in the snow of my mind. That stuck, when I turned and saw your arms pumping, an animalistic fear coursing through your body. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t be scared of me, a deer in the headlights. 

_ You are tired, _

Interrupted those crazy thoughts in that crazy mind. Yeah, I was tired, and holy shit, I needed a drink. Barely stopped to think about how I had never craved the numbness, the giddiness of alcohol before. 

_ You are hurt, _

The bottle was out and open, swallow quickhardfast before I could realize, it was down and burning away the little pride, the little self reserve I had left. I could laugh at the issue. A few swigs and I was back to the animals.

Why would a tiger run from a deer? The deer could, hurt, hurt, because that’s what scary things do, they hurt rip tear to shreds. Deer don’t do that, I can’t. 

Maybe it wasn’t me?

The trees wouldn’t shut up. They were laughing, waving, they knew how stupid I was being. They knew how long I had been there, the knew I still thought it was my fault.

Because it was?

Maybe-

Maybe- 

_ All your friends, they fertilize, _

If my mind could be quiet, quietdarkmindspace, maybe this could work. You ran- you run from me because I hold something. Shiver. What do I hold?

_ The ground you walk, _

The road jumped up, it sprang, it flew at my right ear. Down, because the gravel that had stared back earlier wanted to taste, it wanted to feel. It could help, because IT did, the bottle was empty. 

The bottle was empty. You helped that way, and it clattered to the ground far, far away. I giggled, wished you were there so I could ask you. What was wrong? Why were so so afraid of me? What had I done to you?

Or what had you done to me?

I rolled on my stomach, reaching out to pick at the grass, I wanted to feel every blade down the road. The sky started crying. I picked a single blade of grass and tasted it. It was only fair. My stomach heaved, and I laughed.

_ So lose, _

_ your, _

_ mind _

 

I think it rained for a while before she found me. 

The headlights, they shone. They were too bright. In my eyes. The screaming, the yelling, it was too loud. The wind needed to be quiet. The animals needed to go to sleep. The trees needed to be silent. 

Too loud, and I knew the face. She got out of the car and stumbled a bit too much on a rock. I knew her. Abby. She was yours. She was my fault, or I was her fault, because somehow, we didn’t look the same, she had smallblueeyes and straightblondehair. My stomach heaved. She knew me, I heard her whisper my name, whispershout in surprise-

Because what the hell was I doing in the middle of the road?

Maybe she knew about me and you. Maybe I told her. The ground was soft, but the backseat of her car was softer, and the acid was only burning at the back of my throat. She asked if I was drunk. I didn’t want to answer. The grey of the ceiling blended with the black of the sky outside, the wind whipped through the windows. I laughed, or I tried, it came out as a moan, and her face was too shiny. Too sweaty. Tears?

The bright white top she had on burned my eyes. It hurt, as she leaned over, I don’t know what she was saying. Her hands were on me. They were small, and damp, and they were painful. I tried to laugh again. No other cars were going by, and I wondered where you were. 

 

For a minute, for a while, I could not think. Time collapsed down to smells, and she, Abby, did not smell like she should. A girl. She did not smell like a girl. She was crying, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh, laugh and roll over.

“Where do you need to go?” She asked, over and over. “Where do you live?” I didn’t know why she was crying, but it wasn’t because of me. I was fine. Just laughing, not answering. Who knew where I lived? It was too dark out to tell. 

_ Lose  _

_ Your _

_ Mind _

There was a phone against her ear, and she breathed. Heaved in too many breaths for a small body. I was sitting, she held me up against the side of the car. No laughing anymore. It was time to be serious. I waved at the dark.

“How much did you drink?” She asked. Still sweaty. Still upset. The phone was down. She was getting back into the car, the driver’s side- we were going. I smiled.

“Idunno?”

I think she called you.

Her car, the smallgreycar, pulled into a driveway in front of a house. Your house. Your window. I could see you standing on the roof.

I knew it was you; your shoulder were set back. You grinned at me, or at her, and I realized it was dark. It was night. We were sneaking in, or you were sneaking out. I was going. 

She, Abby, helped me fall out of the car. The grass was soft. She drove away without another word. Maybe she was still crying. I tried to pick another blade, but my hands were shaking too much. 

The papercut on my finger stung, and my hands shook. They were cold. I was cold and wet. My stomach heaved. 

“Where are we?” I asked. I was leaning on you, half walking half dragging me across your lawn. The stars glared disapprovingly. You laughed. I shivered again. You were touching me. 

“Joshua? Your lips are blue.”

I grinned, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want your arm. You smelled animal, you smelled scared, you smelled scary. I wanted home, you needed to go away. Before I let go. 

Something was wrong, I could see it through the haze. Your shifty eyes and fast breath, so contrasting to mine. Slow, not steady, but slow. You breathed in sharp bursts. 

I thought your room would be warm. It was cold. The water you handed me was even colder. You watched me, blinking slowly, and I stared at your hands. 

You said nothing. I couldn’t open my mouth. The animals were raging inside my head again, deers and tigers and mice and who- and how- and why-

“Why did you run?” 


	7. 11/14 Sunday Night: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler know why he ran, starts to face it- and realizes he needs to fix it.  
> Josh shows up entirely at the wrong time, but at the perfectly right time.  
> Why did Tyler do what he did? And why is he so wracked with guilt?  
> Will Josh ever know what happened to him?
> 
> On another booze filled night, the two try to figure it out.  
> And in the end, things are made worse than they probably were in the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kiddos,  
> part of that night. I was going to write it solely from josh, but it wasn't right. It needed input from tyler.  
> This is not all of this part of the story. You'll hear more from josh about what happened.  
> I hope this makes you think differently about both of them.  
> (this is where the story diverges from what happened to me completely)  
> please comment and tell me what's on your mind.  
> thanks, stay alive

It wasn’t fair. The things you were doing to my head.

Abby had been there- in my arms, she was in real life- and it came out. It came out, because she asked and wondered and accused, and I told her. 

I told her what happened, and I told her the guilt that had been weighing my mind down for days. How could it only have been days? She inched away, slowly, and had to try harder to pretend not to be disgusted every second of my story. It was night. I wondered where you were.

When I was done, when I told her about Friday, she lifted it to her lips with a quivering hand. The bottle. Rum, or some kind of cheap liquor she bought from the homeless people camped out at the liquormart. For that night. We were going to get back on track. I was going to leave you behind. Things were going to be okay and I would get my life back together. She climbed in my window at twelve, and I didn’t think she would leave until dawn.

My room was empty at 1:30.

She had taken off, tears streaming down her face. I watched her jump out of my window, and for some reason, for some fucking reason, I couldn’t bring myself to care. 

Because who was I in her eyes? What had we been through? You, you pushed at the the corners of my mind and I shoved you into my throat. Deep down. I wasn’t going to do anything, anything at all, because I left you on that field in the dead grass and there was no going back.

My throat burned with the pain of keeping the thoughts down. It ached and clawed for attention, begging to let the tears flow. I refused. Pain wracked my chest, it was an empty, hollow pang of guilt and anger, it pulled my mind in weird directions I didn’t ever want to think about. It wasn’t my fault, was it? It was an accident. You were okay and I hadn’t done anything to your mind. 

I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to call you. I wanted to make sure you were okay, because you were, weren’t you? I didn’t matter in your life. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine it was fine. I would not pick up my phone; even if you called me, I wouldn’t answer. It was okay and I didn’t need to reopen things. You were in the past.

I lay on top of the covers on my bed, and the frigid air blew in through the open window Abby had left. Hairs stood up on my bare chest and I shivered, but I couldn’t move. Frozen. Gravity pinned me to the bed, it pinned my lungs closed and made breathing a monumental task. 

Sleep, to sleep was a joke. My eyelids were forced open by the weight of the night, the cold, dark sky. I was a bad person. A terrible person. Why was I there? What good had I ever done for anyone? Had I ever made anyone truly happy? Had I ever been truly happy? Was there any point in me being there, when all I did was fuck things up? When all I did was drink to cover things up in my mind? Because all I did was lie. I was a liar. A good liar, but too good. I had convinced myself of lies. What was even real? Was anything I remembered real? Or was it all false memories, ones I tailored and shaped so I could handle them? Did I tell the truth to anyone, ever? Who was I, behind all of that? Other than the stories I made up? Was I even there? 

My phone buzzed. It rang. My fingers twitched, but I stayed glued to the bed. No. I would not move. It rang again, and I blinked. Stay. No. I would not answer, because it was you. It had to be you. Of course it was you. 

On the third ring, I reached for my phone and wrapped my cold fingers around it. Yes, I was going to do this. I was going to fix it. I wasn’t going to lie anymore.

It was Abby. 

I almost put it back down, I almost flung it across the room, I almost screamed. Instead, I laughed. Of course it wasn’t you- that was too easy. Too nice.

I answered anyways.

“Tyler?” She sounded like she was still crying. I didn’t answer. I waited. 

“Tyler- I found him- I mean, I almost ran him over- he was laying on the road, he’s totally passed out- fucked out of his mind- I think he’s drunk-”

“Who?” My heart started beating faster. Was it Anton? Charlie? That piece of shit Denis?

“The kid- the boy you were talking about-” 

Blood roared in my ears. “Josh?”

I could hear her choke back a whimper, a sob. “Yeah, him, what do I do with him? I can’t leave him here, he’s in the middle of the woods, on Riverdale-”

“Bring him.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Take him here. I’ll watch him.”

She mumbled something on the other end. I thought I could hear your voice, barely. There was a pause, and a deep breath. I hoped she would refuse, she would take you to the hospital, his parents, to her home, anywhere but here, anywhere but where I would have to deal with you. I couldn’t, not right now. 

“Ok.” The phone clicked as she inhaled sharply, cutting me off from a sob. I placed it delicately on the bed next to me, and blinked. Blinked again. The breath would not enter my lungs. I blinked, but didn’t open my eyes. 

You were going to be here. Soon. Now. I stood up, pulled a shirt over my head. It was blue, dark blue, and goosebumps prickled up on my arms. I stepped out of the window onto the roof, the gelid air bit at my skin. The rough roof scratched the pads of my bare feet as I tried not to slide. I waited, watched to road for any sign of her car.

A pair of headlights approached my front yard. I jumped, almost dropping my phone off the roof. It was the right color, the right size, and I desperately searched the window for your face or hers. No, it wasn’t you, it was the wrong car. I sighed. She was probably lying, anyways, wasn’t she? Abby wouldn’t come back here after what I said.

She did. She was back, her grey car in front of my house. I didn’t even notice- I was staring at the stars- until I heard the door open and her voice. 

I slid off the roof on to the pine tree, and climbed down. Grinned at you, and she avoided my eyes. She helped you on to the grass of my front lawn and still refused to look at me as I crossed the yard. The car door slammed behind her and she took off without another word. I took a deep breath, ready to talk to you, facedown in the grass. Your arm was outstretched, clutching a clump of grass. 

“Tom?”

You mumbled something, groaned, maybe, and barely moved. I laughed. No, I wasn't nervous or upset. It was fine. 

“Come on, kid, let’s get you inside.” I leaned down, grabbed your arm, and you limply flopped back to the ground. I laughed again, and pulled you all the way up. 

“Where are we?” You muttered, eyes half closed. 

“Home,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I wished you would stop talking. The more you talked, the more likely it was I would have to explain everything. 

You shouldn’t have been able to talk- you were cold, and you were so drunk you could hardly stand, and the words barely made it out of your mouth. 

“Joshua?” You finally looked at me.“Your lips are blue,” I whispered. “We should get you inside.” You shivered and I picked you up- your feet had stopped moving. You looked up with wide brown eyes, staring at the stars beyond my face. I watched as your mouth opened, and closed, as you searched my eyes. I couldn’t meet your eyes for too long- I couldn’t think about what I would say. My breathing sped up, and my heart pounded. Here you were, I could set things straight. I was terrified- I knew, I knew it would all come out. It couldn’t, but it had to. You couldn’t just stay here- all night- without word vomit escaping my lips-

What would I do? Just sneak you in the front door? I had to, I guess, you couldn’t climb onto the roof. What then? You would be in my room- well, so, maybe water. I wasn't used to taking care of drunk people; I was normally the one being taken care of.

I shifted you over my right shoulder, leaving my left arm free so I could open and close the door quietly. You groaned and I moved you again so my shoulder wasn’t jutting into your stomach. I carried you into the kitchen, the floor creaking quietly, and filled a cup with water. Your soft hair tickled my ear as you moved your head to whisper into my ear. “Ty…”

“Shhhh,” I breathed. “You’ll be upstairs soon.” I glanced at my parents’ room, down the hallway, before climbing the stairs. You were heavy, but not too heavy, and I was only breathing slightly hard when I reached the carpet at the top of the stairs. Silently, I crept to my room, and gently laid you on the bed. Shivering, you lifted your head up to look at me. I handed you the cup. “Drink this.”

I tried to smile, watching your eyes unfocus into the distance as you drank. The smile didn’t reach my face, and my hand shook when I reached to smooth back my hair. I sat on the bed next to you, hopeless thoughts filling my mind. Maybe you would fall asleep. Maybe you would be silent. Maybe you would forget. 

But now, you pulled yourself back on the bed to sit up, still shivering. I wanted to stand, to get you a sweatshirt, to help you fall asleep. But your eyes focused intensely on mine and I couldn’t look away, I couldn’t move, I was frozen.

You seemed to gather your words- to form them in your mind, mouthing them before you spoke them. I watched, waited, knew it was coming. I knew I would have to tell you the truth, the guilt raged inside me. That night. I knew what was in your drink, I knew what I was doing and no amount of alcohol could mask that. You weren’t awake at that party, you weren’t truly alive and breathing, just as you weren’t now, but you had to know, you had to know how the freckles on your shoulder blades looked- you had to know how the sweat on your neck tasted- you had to-

“Why-”

I snapped back to the present. 

“Why what?” I could barely choke it out.

“Why did you run?’ A tear slipped out of your eye. “What did you do?” 

I closed my eyes. “It- it was an accident- a mistake- and it all happened on Wednesday, on a different Wednesday, a night before you existed-”

I hesitated. You stared. There was no going back. 

“I was fifteen. I was at a party. I was drunk for the first time- he, he was eighteen, and he-”

“He what?”

“He did to you- I mean, he did to me-”

I choked back a sob. I couldn’t finish. “He did to me what I did to you-”

Your eyes were open all the way, alert. “What… what did you do to me?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I can’t, not right now-”

You grabbed my arm.  “Tell me.”

I coughed, cleared my throat, and swallowed. “His name was Carter- and he was on the baseball team, too. He threw a party for- for, I think, it was his best friend’s birthday. His boyfriend’s. And, you know, he was gay. Everyone knew he was. We were, I mean, everyone was fine with it- and I don’t know how I knew him, other than that party- because at that party-” 

I stopped, and you watched me with sympathy. Your hand was still on my arm, and I knew had to finish. I couldn’t stop. You looked at me expectantly.

“I was at that party because of a girl, her name was Cass, and I knew she would be there- she told me I could come- she was his younger sister… and I thought, you know, I could see her there, so I went- and there was liquor, hard liquor, and I was talking to her, and I wanted to impress her so I drank, because I knew it was cool, and she was laughing, and I kissed her, and I was in heaven…” 

“Then what?” You asked.

“Then what?” I laughed bitterly. “Carter saw me kiss her. He was on something, he was high off something, and pretended to be angry. I know now he had been watching me all night, I knew it then, but I thought it was because I was talking to his sister… and that’s why I thought he was angry, so we went into this room because he wanted to have ‘a talk’ with me.” I laughed again. “So he starts with this big brother talk, and I didn’t see it, I didn’t hear him, I was barely standing up and I was just laughing- I was so stupid, so naive, because I couldn’t tell-”

“Couldn’t tell what?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I couldn’t tell what he wanted, I couldn’t see- then he stopped halfway through a sentence and he kissed me, and I went along with it, because it didn’t feel bad, but then I thought- you know, it wasn’t cool anymore, but I couldn’t stop, or get him to stop, and I was on my back on the bed and trying to push him off and he just kissed me harder and I went limp, my head was spinning and I could barely think, I have no idea how I remember it-”

Silence. 

“But I was on my stomach and I didn’t know how it happened but I knew, I knew exactly what was about to happen and he was sucking on my neck and it felt good and it shouldn’t have and I tried to roll over I tried to push him off but I was frozen he was too heavy and he was breathing like he had just sprinted a mile, he was hot and shaking and I couldn’t do anything but moan, I moaned and I had started crying, and it hurt but he didn’t stop, he kept on going he kept going and it lasted forever because he was never done and I was crushed into the bed, he crushed me and he weighed a thousand pounds, and he just got up and left. Walked out the door. I couldn’t move-” Tears slipped down my face, they slid out and I couldn’t get them to stop. 

“I- I went home, I got home somehow, and I took a shower. I showered until all the hot water was gone, and just sat for hours afterwards. When the sun came up, I got dressed. Went to school, and somehow, I saw him. When he looked at me, he bit his lip. He flicked my ear, but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was frozen, again, and every time I saw him, every time I smelled him I ran. I ran.” 

You just stared. Stared, and I wondered why you didn’t say anything. 

I stood up, turned away, reached for the bottle Abby had left. Downed the rest of the contents and collapsed back onto the bed, with you still staring blankly at me.  

I knew why you didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t. Leaning back on the bed, I closed my eyes. Keep lying, I told myself. You will never know that way. 

Your hand, it reached out to mine, grabbed it tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” You whispered. I shoved the guilt into the depths of my head and pulled you in a tight hug, holding on like I would never let go. You held me just as tightly, and I could feel your heart racing. I cried, let the tears drip onto your back. 

You didn’t say anything at all, not until the sun rose. And I kept lying to myself. 


	8. 11/15 early monday morning: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh's part of Sunday/Monday  
> Josh is more drunk than Tyler, again. Tyler is a sobbing wreck and Josh has no idea what to do because he's scared, he's terrified he might figure out what happened to him on Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey frens,  
> this chapter was out a lot sooner than I expected! I was able to get it done to the grade I wanted it- it's short, but it fills in an important part.  
> I promise this is not the end, but the chapter after this may take a bit. Finals week, etc. It's also a huge bridge chapter as to where they go next  
> stay street.

Your ceiling was light blue, baby blue, and I almost laughed. You told me a story and I stared at the sky.

The moon, outside, it was bright. It hurt my eyes.

Your eyes were red- they looked hurt. You had been hurt, you were telling me. Ripped apart from the inside.

My head swarmed, and you talked, you kept talking, because your mind had fixed on a story. Your past and for some reason the guilt bit through the wall, it chewed through and forced you to share it.

A story that didn’t make sense. That wouldn’t be why you ran.

It was told with hiccuped sighs, with hitched breaths and long pauses. I waited, watched, I heard.

I didn’t understand, I didn’t understand, until you got to the showering part. The dirtiness, I knew what that was. I knew what hours of cleaning yourself couldn’t wash away, I knew. You told me about him, about the dirt he had left on you, a mark you couldn’t scrub away, and I felt you being ripped apart because I knew how it felt too.

How? I couldn’t piece it together, I couldn’t understand in my memories what had made me feel that way, the way I thought everyone knew.

The last pause was the longest. You were done. I sipped my water; the cold brought me back to reality. You were done, heartbroken, and you wanted me to say something.

Nothing escaped my lips. Pieces, blurred edges, were beginning to form of a night with soft blue carpet and not soft hands. A weight left the bed and I fell back.

You stood, you lifted that to your lips. I used to judge you, I used to hate you for it. I never got it, the numbness.

I knew it then, I knew it on the road that went to nowhere. It covered up the questioning, the unknown, it made everything foggy and lessened the contrast. Who knew what was right and wrong? Few things were written in contrast.

 

_ You like to sleep alone, _

_ It’s colder than you know. _

 

I laughed, I tried to and nothing escaped but a moan. You turned around, eyes fixating on me, they glared, a hunter settling in on it’s prey. Something shot through my stomach- fear.

Those eyes, I knew those eyes. Predator eyes. The night- I saw you standing over me, you handed me the cup. Almost with a wink. It was wrong, but I drank it.

 

_ ‘Cause your skin _

_ Is used to colder bones _

 

You placed the bottle behind you on the table. Didn’t stop looking at me. I pretended not to notice, searching the sky for the moon again. On my back, it was wrong, it was wrong, I should have sat up, I should have gotten up- anything but lay there-

 

_ It’s warmer in the morning, _

_ Than what it is at night, _

 

I squeezed my eyes shut; it had to morning, this had to be gone. This had to be over- it was cold, too cold in that room, the ice and the stare and the window were all freezing my body to the sheets. You collapsed on the bed next to me and I bolted upright, finally gathering enough heat to move. Eyes watched me, tears still dripping down your face, an ounce of sympathy was drawn from my gut out of fear.

Still looking at you, I grasped your stone cold fingers tightly and whispered,

“I’m sorry.”

My touch seemed to shock you, it kicked you in to another mode. Hunger filled your face. 

 

_ Your bones are held together _

_ By your nightmares and your frights _

 

I was terrified, I wanted to run run run when I could, but the only thing keeping me in place was my fear. My foggy mind grasped for the idea- it was there, it was there- what had happened to me?

You had said- he did the same thing to you- as you did to me?

I didn’t remember anything of that night but the fear, the smells, the soft carpet and the hurt, the heat. The red. It was good, but so, so bad- I wanted it out I wanted it out I wanted it out, but your arms grasped me and squeezed any thoughts out of my head, your tears dripped down my back. I was a rabbit again, a mouse, and you were the lion, the lion wasn’t scared- I was trapped-

You knew something I didn’t about that night- but then, I was lying to myself because I knew what had happened. That night wasn’t clear, but you, you had just told me your own sob story version, why this had made you so upset., what I had done. What had happened that night- and you knew it was your fault, you knew and you were guilty and trying to blame me?

 

_ You are tired _

_ You are hurt _

 

Your breathing, it was less hitched. You were whispering. I tried not to breathe- maybe you would think I was dead. I could see the baby-blue ceiling again. You whispered apologies in to my neck, lips brushing softly against my throat. 

“Josh- I”

“I’m so sorry-”

“I- I don’t know”

“I don’t know what happened-”

And I was on my back again, with fear coursing through my veins. Your hands were warm and you were heavy- heavy, pushing me down, but I didn’t know what was happening- I did- what could I do?

My stomach filled with acid. I knew what was going to happen- and I wanted you off, I wanted you down, I didn’t want to touch you- because of Wednesday, you never told me what happened, because I knew, I had known the whole time.

 

_ And all your friends _

_ They fertilize _

_ The ground you walk _

 

Was I your only friend? Was I the only one who knew? The only one who you trusted- the only one who could fix you? But you didn’t tell me, you didn’t tell me but I knew, I knew it was forced-

Was it  _ rape? _

No, no- I shook my head- it couldn’t have been, no no no no not to me, not to me, I’m too young, that’s not how that works-

Your lips met mine and I jumped, I jumped and you laughed. You knew.

“Excited?” You mumbled into my mouth. I-

You had just admitted to- to forcing me, to knowing I wasn’t sober, to knowing what was in my punch- and you were?

No, you couldn’t be doing this. No. Not after that- but your body, it didn't lie, you pushed yourself over and into me, and I could do nothing but hold you, hold on for as long as I could.

But your shirt was off, and your hands were on. When did that happen?

I was frozen, stuck. Couldn’t move- because if I moved, your mind would shatter, you would go back to crying- you would be a brokenheadedmess-

 

_ So lose. _

 

I shivered when the cold air hit my thighs, even though you were warm. Hot. Too hot. I groaned again, and my back arched. It felt like it should have, it felt the same, but I knew it, I knew what was going on, I knew I would remember you. You tugged, you pulled on my hair, and another moan escaped my lips. You seemed to like it and pulled harder. 

 

_ your. _

 

The moon outside, it was dark. I couldn’t see it. My eyelashes pulled a fog over my view and my mind- I could barely see, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t tell you anything, that it hurt, to stop, to no, no, because you would start again- did you know what you were doing? Your raspy breath filled my mind, it blew over my right ear, you were groaning. 

 

_ mind. _

 

I could feel my face wet again- sweat or tears, something salty, when you collapsed to the side of me. The frigid room jumped on my back and you watched my eyes- you smiled, you flucking smiled. Grinned at me, breathing hard. It could have been a close moment. I was trying not to let anything portray what I felt. I was trying to let you think what you wanted- what you needed to think. I you reached out with trembling fingers to smooth the damp hair from my face. 

"Pretty," You whispered.

 

Did you know what you were doing?

You hugged me. Wrapped your arms all the way around my torso. 

“Thank you, Josh.”

I stayed there, I stayed in your arms all night. All flucking night, because what else would I do? Leave you to break down again? It couldn’t happen.

What about me? I, whatever part in my head had a problem, went away. It hit, it was shoved in a corner, I was no longer an issue, and you were to be fixed. You, when the smell of you set my heart racing in fear, just the thought of your arms around me made me want to bolt.

But I was there, in your room. Your head. You were less guilty- somehow, you had convinced yourself that you were fine, you were happy, because when dawn finally came, you helped me out of the window with a smile. A pounding headache and an aching body followed- but you, you were happy.

“Thank you, Josh,” you said again, and I smiled. Smiled, I’m not joking, and you took it seriously, because I had taken your guilt. Stolen it away so you could walk free- because you had done nothing to me, right?

 

I didn’t cry, not really, until I was in my own bed, buried under the covers. I didn’t have enough time in the shower to run out the hot water.

And I would see you again in only a few hours.

The thought tore me to pieces.


	9. 11/16 Tuesday: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Tyler figure a few things out.  
> Is this a start to a happy ending?  
> (this is the cute one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kiddos  
> this is definitely not the end. I can promise you that, and hold myself to it, even if I can't keep a promise about getting a chapter out soon.  
> Es tut mir leid, it took me forever to write this, but you can't imagine how annoying (but necessary!!) it was to switch tenses.  
> enjoy and please please please comment  
> stay street.

I fumble with the pages in my hand, pretending to read but definitely not. I can’t get the smell out of my mind, I can’t get the fucking softness of your hair out of my head. You won’t go away and it’s driving me crazy. 

It’s impossible to imagine seeing you- my hands are shaking, and for

once, I don’t know how to be confident. The dogeared cover of the book slides into my lap, closing it. There’s no hope of distracting myself now. 

There’s something about you, it made me apologize, it made guilt tear my stomach apart, it made me hope you saw me. For once. Like no one else had seen.

I had opened myself up, threw words slurred with alcohol into your mind and hoped you would deal. Hoped, but didn’t expect. I mostly expected you to run off, terrified, and never speak to me again.

But you stayed that night- all night- until you could barely make it home in time and you smiled, you smiled and you were warm and happy and you were  _ there,  _ like no one else had been. Maybe that was it.

No? I had felt that feeling before, before Sunday, it’s why I had pushed you away-

Who knew. Who fucking knew. And I had to see you, I wanted to see you again.

How had it not even been a week?

Yesterday was weird. I promised myself it wouldn’t happen, that I would go that far or do that thing- but no, you wanted it, I wanted it, we were both uncontrolled. And tired. Crazy. Insane. Whatever word you wanted to use. 

Yesterday, you drove me crazy, it was a power you had. I hated it. Kind of definitely hate it. 

I couldn’t say no- and not in the way I was out of control, not in the way I was too drunk, which I wasn’t, it was you. It was the mess you had seen, the  _ vulnerability  _ of my head being open to you. I needed you, I needed safe, and it needed to be right. You were as fragile as snow building on a spiderweb in the winter, your trust had to be so carefully dealt with. 

Because if I did something wrong, if I hurt you, you could hurt me back. 

“Hey, Tyler, what’s up?”

Fuck. Already, you’re here? I turn in the big, plastic-smelling library chair and glance up at you. 

At least, it was supposed to be a glance.

“Hey, kiddo,” I whisper, just as you press your lips to mine. Quickly, but still there. I jump into it before you pull away, grinning widely. I wipe my palms on my jeans and sit on my hands. 

“Sleep well?” Your eyes are heavy, tired, as you sink in the the puffy chair next to me. I nod, after glancing around to make sure no one saw me kissing you. 

“Actually, yeah.”

“Liar.” You punch me in the arm. “Bullshit.” I raise my eyebrows.

You laugh. “There’s no way you’re not as hungover as I am.” 

I glance at the ceiling, at the long field of dead grass outside of the window. I try to ignore my dry tongue and speak around my fumbling lips, managing what I hope is an easy smile. 

“Fine, prettyboy, you got me, I feel like shit. It’s completely your fault.”

“Prettyboy?” You unzip your backpack, rolling your eyes. “You should see yourself.”

“What did you just say?” I grab your wrist, feigning anger. Your eyes dart up, and I think I see a flash of fear before you cover it, laughing. 

“Nothing,” You whisper, and I’m suddenly aware of how close our faces are. Again. In the middle of the library. Full of people.

I can’t help it, because my fingers are still resting on your arm. Softy. I’m not grasping you anymore, it’s, just, sitting, there. 

The book falls out of my lap as I kiss you, the softest I’ve ever kissed anyone, and your fingers barely reach the nape of my neck by the time I’m pulling away. 

It, I can’t name it, burns through my stomach as you stare at me, and I’m intoxicated by breathing the same air that you are.  

The world is swept away, our own little world, when you reach down and pick up the paperback copy of the Odyssey. Press it into my open hand, resting on my left knee. I’m still leaning so far forwards it looks like I’m going to fall, but I catch the little orange book instead. No falling right now. 

Your lip quivers with a smile, and they’re pink. Red. Not puffy, but pretty. I could kiss you again, I should.

I cross my legs over yours and relax back into the chair, sighing. “Do I really have to read?”

“Do you really think I read it?” You settle back as well, but don’t move your feet from under mine.

“You’re the one with an A?”

“Well, I mean, I failed a bio lab yesterday. Totally your fault.”

“How so?” I ask.

You laugh. “You’re the one who- I mean, I couldn’t function yesterday, I showed up and there was this kid, Denis-”

“Denis Ivanov?” A million things flash through my mind. Fuckboy. Asshole. Cute. Competitor. Smart. Funny. Fuckhead. 

“He- he gave me his number, made fun of me for being drunk, and offered to drive me home, asked if I was okay-”

I snort. Stupid sophomore piece of shit. “He wasn’t looking to be nice, kiddo, he wanted whatever you had.” When you raise your eyebrow in question, I clarify. “Alc, prettyboy.”

“Well, no shit.” You hold up your book. “Shouldn’t we be, like, reading this?”

“Dude. Josh.” I rest my hand on yours, making your eyes flit quickly up to mine. “Don’t fuck with him, okay? I got you.”

You nod.

“By the way, how did you get home?”

“Bus,” You respond, pulling your phone out of your pocket and checking the time. 

“Oh, come on, I can drive you next time. Okay?”

Standing, bend to kiss me again, you murmur, “Tyler, school starts in a bit-”

“Yeah, okay, but seriously, you don’t need to worry. I gotchu,” I wrap my arm around you, not bothering to look around. 

You peck me on the cheek. “Yeah, okay, if you can get me there without my parents seeing, which, is like, never.”

“Trust me.” I grin. “I can hide worse things from parents.”

“I know,” you whisper, then turn, leaving only the smell of your shampoo behind. 


	10. 11/16 Tuesday: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh decides a few things. He's too nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, in fact, what happened to me. this part of the story veers a bit back to reality.

I forgot you had tattoos. 

I remember, on Wednesday, they flashed in front of my eyes. I thought they were sharpie, pen, something- but I had seen the markings again, earlier. On monday. It’s Tuesday. How is it only Tuesday?

Holy shit, you have tattoos. Actual permanent ink imbedded in your skin. Lines and dots, which you would think meant morse code, but squares as well. A circle. They were small. Black. Hard to see unless you really looked.

Doesn’t that mean you’re fucked up? Kids don’t have tattoos. That’s not how it works.

Then again, I know you’re fucked up.

Let’s see, you got me drunk, tricked me into liking you, pulled me upstairs, and-

No no no no, it wasn’t like that. I can’t think of that, it will come up. It can’t come up. Has to stay down or else I’ll think of it. Think think think think because we only think when we don’t want to, and we never think when we need to.

What did I expect, anyways? Getting drunk with the people who were supposed to watch my back even more drunk? Because where were they, anyways?

No, but no, no, nothing happened. All that happened was I learned that you were fucked up, yeah, you’re messed up and I can’t just not help. Can’t just leave you to the future.

I mean, you’re in to college already. I think. All I have to do is get you through the rest of high school, a few months. Pass your classes. Don’t get caught. 

What about me? No, because I don’t matter as much, I have all of high school to fix this. Fix myself, I guess. 

It helps that you’re hot. No denying it, and it’s not like I would have turned you down sober- right?

Right?

I ask the ceiling of my room, and I don’t get an answer. Of course not. It’s asleep, most things sleep at 3AM. Not you, anyways, not you but most things. Maybe you aren’t alive. 

Am I? Because this is what happens when I think I am. I can’t be real, not when things like this happen. Clearly, it’s all in my head. I’m in a coma, wasting away in the real world while I live inside my mind. There’s no way this could be the real life, I have to be dead. I’m watching someone else live this. I’m a god in someone’s body. I switched minds with someone just now, except I have no way to know because all my memories and feelings and everything switched, except I can  _ feel  _ it. This isn’t right. It’s never right.

Wednesday wasn’t real either, I thought it was a dream.

I looked at myself in the mirror, then, the morning after and that’s how I knew it was real. 

I had to steal some of my sister’s makeup, goddamnit, and I didn’t put it on right. I know I didn’t. 

Monday morning was me controlling my fear. I don’t think you could tell. I think that Monday was a hangover. It wasn’t fear because I’m not afraid of you, right?

It happened again and I loved it, I lied to myself because I have to lie to you. If you can’t convince yourself you can’t convince anyone else. It’s the law, it’s the one constant of lying. Convince yourself convince the world. 

The stupid song the stupid song crept in. Fucking stupid song invaded my mind whenever you did. 

_ You are tired _

No shit.

_ You are hurt _

I’m fine now.

_ A moth ate through _

_ Your favorite shirt _

I have no idea where that shirt went. I woke up without one. 

_ And all your friends _

_ They fertilize _

My only friend at this point in time is you. Friend. Because you’re my friend, or I’m yours, because I’m fixing you, right?

_ The ground you walk, _

I don’t walk. I fly. I’m an angel; I solve. I heal. It was decided. Giving in to you and deciding to like you wasn’t a question anymore. It was my job and no one else could do it.

“Lose your mind,” I whisper to the ceiling. 

It’s not my friend. It doesn’t talk back. 


	11. 11/17 Wednesday: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh has become safety for Tyler.  
> Tyler isn't sure why everyone has a fucking problem with him.  
> (alludes to suicide. alludes to the aftermath.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say the use of the word "faggot" was not taken lightly. I thought about it a lot. I think it is important to the story.  
> It's not an okay word. I hope you understand I was trying to cast it in a very negative light.  
> Enjoy this one. I have the rest of the story planned out by chapters.  
> Maybe I can get these out a bit faster.  
> Stay alive.

It was cold earlier in the morning. Even walking from the parking lot to the school froze my fingers, and my breath created clouds in the air. Snow didn’t quite dust the trees, but there was frost. It was starting to be winter, and I smiled. 

It was actually early. I was at school early. I set an alarm. I took a shower. 

I knew you were going to be in class, I knew you would have that stupid paperback in your hands, actually actually reading. You would turn, smile. I would be safe because there, there I could let go and no one would see. 

I thought I could be Tyler, just straight Tyler, maybe watching you and knowing you were  _ there  _ just  _ there  _ and happy I was there too-

“Tyler- hey- hold up.”

Not quite safe yet.

Black, straight hair- tall- a strong set jaw- I sucked in a breath. I couldn’t let go, relax. It was time to be awake, alive, realistic, again.

“Hey, Denis.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Man, you fucked up, oh man. What the fuck.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, no, you hook up with a sophomore-” Shaking his head, he took a step forward. 

“Dude,” I stopped him, “ _ you’re _ a sophomore.”

“I’m a guy. He’s a guy. _ You’re  _ a guy.”

I felt my cheeks turning red. “Bullshit. Didn’t happen.”

“Bullshit?”

“Total.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You really think Anton is making this shit up?”

“Come on,” I laughed, waving my hand. “Come on. He’s fucking with you. Come on.”

“Cass?” Denis asked. “She saw you too, I don’t care how drunk she was, but I know she saw you. She saw you naked with that  _ kid-  _ and holy fuck, he was so fucked up in bio yesterday- what did you  _ do  _ to him-”

“Nothing.” I growled. “Nothing happened. Cassy wasn’t even looking. She was over his shoulder.”

“Oh, so she didn’t see you- but you saw her? It happened, but she just didn’t see it?” He pointed a finger at me. “You sound like the  _ real  _ bullshit here.”

“Shut up.” I tried to push past him. 

“Ay, where you going?” He stepped in front of me.

“Denis, come on.”

“No, wait man.” He put a hand on my chest. “If you suck me off, I’ll get you a better car. Swear to god.”

“Hey, could you fucking not?” I tried harder to push past him.

“Actually, Tyler, something better than that piece of shit. I’m serious. I bet you’re good. Your car is straight ass- what is it, a ‘92 Fiesta?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I know you fucked the kid- Josh? Yeah, you know that’s  _ illegal _ , right? Getting him drunk first? I know that’s what you meant to do. Get him wasted off his ass and then fuck the shit out of him, man, you can’t just do that.”

I paused, stopped trying to push past him. “You- you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? Cause, you know- Abby told me all of it.”

“I don’t care. She made all of it up. I broke up with her and she was pissed, okay? I’m not, like, gay. I’m not gay. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Fucking faggot.” He looked me dead in the eye. “You know you’re a fucking faggot- you had everything, and you drop it for a cumrag. I used to look up to you, you know. You were the shit. And then this.” He shook his head. “Fuck you, man.”

I dropped my eyes. He walked away, muttering that word. Faggot.

What did he mean I lost everything?

It’s not like anyone else meant anything to me. I was in a hole, a fucking deep hole, and did the help? No. They didn’t help at all. Not that anyone knew, no one knew, they didn’t care.

I had spent a week, a whole fucking week under “Chemical Restraint” because of him. Aidan. They drugged me up so badly I couldn’t fight, I couldn’t leave the fucking area of the hospital or have more than one crayon. The fifteen year old reader’s digests and torn up magazines littered the nondescript nightstands and I just wanted to leave, I wanted to get out of my head. Sixteen and I was done. Sixteen years of being fucked over, it was a solid year of living with Aidan in my head. Constantly. I was almost done with sophomore year.

It was rape, there was no way it wasn’t. I figured that out after wandering the foggy forests of my mind that week, burning out the old slash and finding new growth.

Yeah, no, the shrink didn’t help, but there was some time in there that I found a piano. I played some notes and something, something about it helped the scar tissue hurt a little less and encourage a little more healing.

It was a while before I stopped playing the piano. I liked it, I liked the songs that flew out. No one could ever hear them, no one could.

Eventually I didn’t think about that house anymore. I never thought about it. It never came up- only when I played that piano, the keys brought back the thoughts. They reminded me I needed them, I was addicted.

So I tried drinking. It was easier that way.

Then you fucking come along, you with your wide eyes and downy hair and I can’t understand why I trust you, why I fucking  _ trust  _ you with something no one knows about.

My parents, they even think I’m just fucked in the head. A product of messed up genes and a drunk pregnancy. Never told them, they just swore at me when they got the hospital bills. “Why are you so overdramatic? You’re like a teenage girl.” “Are you kidding me? I almost wish he just did it?”

Maybe it’s for the better no one knows, except you do. You. Do. 

Maybe you’ll help.

“Hey,” I hear your voice behind my right ear, and you slide your fingers into mine. I’m still in the middle of the hallway, watching where Denis left forever ago. 

People stop, they’re watching, and you don’t care. Peck me on the lips and I smile, I fucking smile because you-

You might actually do something, because I’m probably, I’m definitely not okay.

You could fix this.


	12. 12/9 Sunday: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler shows up and something is off.  
> Josh's parents know something is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy.  
> it's fluffy, right???  
> it's the thought that counts.

You show up at my house without alcohol for the first time in forever.

I’m almost disappointed.

“What’s up, prettyboy? I ask as you slide in the window. You roll your eyes.

“Come on, kiddo, that was a one time thing.”

“Huh,” I count on my fingers, “maybe a six, seven time thing?”

“I’ll six your seven,” You growl, pressing your lips to mine.

“What the fuck?” I laugh. “What are you on?”

“Nothing, prettyboy.” You sigh and collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “There’s some fucked up shit going on in the world right rn.”

“Did you really just say ‘rn’?” I sit on the bed next to you, combing my fingers through your hair. You smile up at me, and with your slight shadow of a beard you look years older. Your eyes are clear, wide; you’re sober. Good.

You’re too fucking cute with a beard.

I kiss you, hard and deep. You kiss me back, and it’s a stupid kiss, you’re on your back and I’m leaning over you with my legs crossed and fingers still in your hair. Almost a spiderman kiss, but not quite.

You didn’t actually close the window, but it’s not snowing so neither of us care. My parents are home and the door isn’t an option- you haven’t met them yet, but I’m sure they suspect. I’m happier than I’ve been in forever.

“J, come on.” You groan from under me, trying to sit up.

“Tyler, shut up,” I whisper into your lips,”we have time.”

“Stop-”

“Stop what?” I kiss you harder, pushing you all the way back. Your fingers trail under my shirt and I’m all over you, tracing and searching. You shudder. 

“Kid-” You laugh into my lips. “Come on-”

I ignore you, you’re tired or something. This is what you need. It always helps, 

especially when I’m this eager. You love it. 

Trailing kisses down your neck, I hook my fingers in your jeans and hum. 

You finally embrace me, seemingly give in with a shiver of pleasure. You pull me up, strong hands on my sides and I laugh.

Then you freeze. Stop. 

“Josh, get off.” This time it’s stone cold, and fear stabs my gut.

I lean back a little, look into your expressionless eyes- no, it’s fear. It’s anger. I know you well enough to know you’re hiding something. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, sitting back and swiping a hand across my lips.

You look at me for a second. I’m straddling your legs and I’m not sure what you’re looking for. Your hands are still gently resting on my hips, and you don’t seem to know what to say.

“Can we talk?” You ask, sitting up on your elbows.

“Yeah, sure.” I say and slide off, cheeks burning. “Sorry.”

You wave your hand. “It’s fine.”

I cross my legs and wait. You’ll take your time. You pick at a stray thread on my blanket.

“Can I stay here tonight?” You whisper, voice husky.

“Tyler, what happened?” I reach out my arms for you, but you lean back.

Yeah, we’ve slept together, but you’ve never  _ stayed  _ here. And something,

something’s fucked up. It’s not like you to push me off, to get upset, to stay the night because I know you’re not just asking to hook up. You’d do that without asking.

“Ty, tell me.” I place a hand on your arm, softly, trying not to break you. Crack your skin. “Please tell me?”

“They found out,” You mutter, looking down. “They know.”

“Who knows?” I pull a blanket from the side of the bed and try to pull it over your cold arms; you’re starting to get goosebumps. I rub your arm, trying to bring some warmth back. “Come on, Ty-” 

You slap my arm off and whip your head up, eyes blazing. “Them! My parents! They told them, someone fucking told them and they had to pretend like they didn’t already know, now they’re considering telling them- I mean- the police, they’re going to tell them if don’t stop, if they do that, I can’t go to college- I- I- I- I don’t even know, they can’t tell the police because I’m done, I’ll be fucking done-” You wipe your face with your hands roughly. “I’m fucked. I’m so fucking screwed.”

“Wait, okay-” I pull your hands from your face, softly, and wrap my arms around you. “What did they, I mean, find out about?”

“Drinking.” You mutter, cheeks turning red. “Out of all the shit I’ve done, that’s what they ‘find out’ from his parents-”

“Whose parents?”

“The shithead.” I nod. Denis. 

“Fuck him, I mean, fuck him. It doesn’t matter. You can just stop drinking, right? Like, all you have to-” I cut myself off when I see you glaring at me. I know as well as you how impossible that sounds. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, eyes still flicking back and forth nervously, “but Dad- I mean Chris- said I had to stop, cold turkey. That’s what he said, or he swore he would tell them- the- the cops. And then I couldn’t go to college- and if I don’t get out of here then- I’m never leaving- I’ll be stuck with them forever-” 

“Shhh, shhh, wait, calm down, we’ll figure this out,” I squeeze you tightly to slow your hiccuping hysteria, anything to keep you from crying. “Start small, how long has it been since you drank?” 

“Probly, like, 18 hours,” you wring your hands, sweat beading on your forehead, “it sucks. It really fucking does.”

“You can stay here, and, like, you know we have no alc-”

“But how long?” You ask, scared. “How long could I stay?”

“I dunno, honestly. You’d probably have to meet my parents.”

That’s scary for you, but less scary than going back home. You nod, finally

starting to cry. 

“You’ll be okay,” I whisper, laying slowly on my side with you still in my arms. “You’ll be fine, it’ll all be okay, I love-”

“Can I have an aspirin?” You whisper, eyes closed. “I have a killer headache.” 

“Sure,” I whisper, pretending not to notice that I almost said it. I almost said the words. Three words. I almost said it.   
I sit up, reaching under the mattress for the bottle I usually keep for hangovers. It’s too light, and when I shake it, it’s silent. Shit.

“I’ll be right back,”I kiss your cheek and squeeze your sweaty hand. It’s sweatier than usual. Maybe it’s being at my house, maybe it’s anxiety.

I should probably look up the symptoms of withdrawal too.

Because you’re an alcoholic, right? I mean, not a full blown adult alcoholic, but I mean, maybe you are. You depend on it a lot. Most of the time. Who knows? I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. You’re stopping now, anyways. 

I’m not as quiet as I usually am going down the stairs, and too lost in thought to notice them sitting at the kitchen table.

Mom and Dad. 

Shit.

They’re watching me, waiting with patient stares through nighttime reading glasses, and it settles in my stomach, the holy- shit- I’m- so- fucked feeling, the what- the- fuck- am- I- supposed- to- do. The best thing to do is let them make the first move. I freeze on the stairs, right foot almost touching the ground, and mouth open.

They watch. Fold their hands on the table and sigh. Stalemate. I’m going to have to go first.

“Uhhhhh, hi?” I start, trying not to cringe out of my own skin.

“Hello, Joshua,” Mom says in a careful tone,”you have some explaining to do.”

I wince. “About what…?”

Mom gives me the look. “You know what.”

“No? I just got thirsty? I’m getting water and going back to bed?”

Dad sighs and rolls his eyes. “Come on, kid, we know you’ve got a girl up there. What’s her name? Where’s she from?” he laughs. “You’re not in that much trouble.”

“I’m…not?” 

“Well, I mean, you’re breaking curfew and I’m sure she is too, but we want-”

“What he’s trying to say,” Mom cuts him off, “Is that we want to be supportive parents and know about this and be able to reach a compromise of rules so everyone is safe. Okay?”

I nod slowly. They can’t be serious. This must be a trap. There’s no way they’re this cool about it. They’re faking. No way.

Not to mention, you’re definitely not a girl and probably can’t pass as one. And if I tell them who you are, they’ll know your last name. Everyone does. 

“So, sit down?” Dad motions to the chairs across from them. “What’s her name?”

I slide into the wooden chairs, sweating furiously. “I- uh- I mean, actually- it’s-”

“Honey, we don’t care who it is, we won’t be upset,” Mom says, “as long as she treats you well.”

“It’s- ah- it’s a he.” I stammer out, staring at my lap. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. 

“What?” Dad asks.

“He.” I whisper. “Tyler Joseph.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, it’s probably Mom. Dad doesn’t say anything. 

“The- ah- as in-”

“Yeah.” I nod. “That one.” 

Everyone knew about _ that _ , because news travels fast in small communities. Everyone knew you were in the hospital for a week, everyone kind of figured out what had happened. Combined with a vacant stare, bruises, and some weird things your parents said, things added up. I kind of tried to ignore it, like everyone else. I was sure  my parents knew. 

“Well, uh, is- is he okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, Mom, actually,” I look up finally meeting their eyes, “I really like him. I mean, a lot. If that’s okay with you, I guess, I mean, it just kind of happened. It’s just- how he talks- you wouldn’t think he would talk, like, like he does, but he has this way-”

They’re just staring. 

I close my mouth.

“Tom, I mean, if you’re happy with him…” Dad starts, but can’t seem to finish.

“Yeah! It’s- it’s weird, I know, but-”

“We’ve always kind of wondered.” Mom cuts in. “Not really, but always wondered. So, you’re gay, or bi-”

“I dunno?” I shrug my shoulders, cheeks turning pink.

“Can, we, uh, meet him?” Mom asks, hesitantly.

“If he’s still there-”

“Yeah, okay, that’s the thing.” I twist my hands. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. “He’s, like, he can’t really go home, not right now, maybe not for a couple days- is it okay if, like, he like stays here?”

“Of course,” Mom says. “If he needs to, he can stay.”

“But in a different room,” Dad points out. “Sorry, but if he were a girl, I would do the same thing.”

“Yeah, so, uh, I’ll go bring him down?”

They nod, and I slowly stand up. What am I going to say to you?

I slowly walk up the stairs. Will you actually come down? What will they think when they actually see you? And- shit- you have a hickey. A big one. They’ll see it and know, I mean, of course they know but they’ll  _ know  _ and-

“Tom?” You mutter, laying facedown on the bed. I had cracked the door open and started to step in. 

“Ah, hey, so-”

“Yeah, I heard your parents down there.” You groan and sit up. “Fuck, do they want me to come down?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Wanna borrow a sweatshirt?”

You nod. “I gotta hickey, I think. Do I look okay?” 

“You look fine,” I laugh, tossing you a sweatshirt. “You’re good. Just act, like okay, okay?”

“How the fuck do I act okay?”

“Uh, um,” I watch as you put the sweatshirt on. “Hold my hand?”

“I’ll try that.” You grin, pecking my cheek.

“You’ll be fine.” I slide my fingers into yours. “They’ll love you.”

You take a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not sure, Josh, I mean-”

“As long as you act like you like me, it’s fine, I think they just want me to be happy-”

“Yeah, well, that won’t be acting.” Laughing, you squeeze my hand. “Hey, the sooner this is over, the sooner I can get an aspirin, right?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “And the sooner you get an aspirin, the sooner you’ll be asleep-”

“And the sooner we can hang out. Let’s go-”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

With a final kiss, you pull me through the door and down the stairs with a wide smile. 


	13. 12/27 Thursday: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Tyler are cute together kind of  
> josh writes songs?? and tyler doesn't like piano??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay welp it took me all summer to be somewhat satisfied with this chapter because I went through the phase I go through with all my projects- I despise it so much it takes a ton of willpower to not delete it on the spot and burn it from the corners of my google drive and all the versions I have downloaded on my computer. I didn't delete it, and after writing a lot of other stuff I'm never going to post I realized that I missed it. So here we go. Buckle your seatbelts kiddos bc this one ends fast and suddenly and you're probably going to break your neck.   
> I will see this through to the end.

There’s actually snow on the ground, for once, and I can barely make it out of the window. My room is cold and heavy and sounds are muted and small. 

The only important thing is the way your hair tickles in the crook my arm and the slight parting of your lips when you exhale. 

I know you have to go; it’ll be shitty for both of us if you aren’t home in time. It’s a compromise I’ve figured out actually works out for everyone, and it makes your parents trust me more. They think you’re sleeping on a guest couch downstairs. My parents barely know you exist. 

“Hey, Josh,” I whisper, lightly squeezing you. Your eyelids flicker and you look up at me, smiling. 

“Whaddya get for Christmas?” You mutter, rubbing your eyes. 

Tracing my fingertips down your side, I laugh. “My two front teeth and a hippopotamus.”

“Maybe you got a better sense of humor?”

I frown and sit up on my elbow. “Ouch.”

“What time is it, anyways?” Groaning, you stretch. “Shit, is it morning already?”

“Does’n matter,” I grumble, wrapping my arms around you again. “I’m tired.”

“Tyyyyleer,” You sigh, trying to sit up. “You know I have to be home.”

“It’s cold, you’re fine.”

You comb your hair back with your fingers and yawn. “You know mom would kill me if I wasn’t home for presents.”

“You can go back later, I want you to see what I got,” tugging on your arm, I roll over. “Please?”

“We both know you’re not leaving this room until after lunch,” you laugh and begin to reach for your shirt and pull it on.

“Yeah, I know, but-” 

“You can always come over, I mean, I know you guys don’t really do Christmas -”

“Shhhhh,” I press my lips to yours, pulling the blankets up with me. “Shhhh, we don’t talk about Christmas here-”

“I, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.” You draw back, rubbing your face. “I mean, you aren’t, like, I dunno-”

“You can ask,” I laugh, sliding the blankets up further.

“You’re not, like, too poor, so why doesn’t your family do it?”

“Want a real answer?” I ask, sitting up fully. You nod. “Well, well, I guess, we can’t afford it. I guess. Emotionally. My parents don’t want to deal with it. No one really wants to deal with it. It’s just a day in December. Like, we used to, you know, give gifts and stuff but we kind, just, you know, stopped.”

“Woah,” you press your fingers to your temples, “too early in the morning for deep shit like that.”

I laugh. “I know, right? That’s why we don’t even bother.”

You sigh. “Sounds better than the full day of family togetherness-”

“You can come back tonight.” I press a kiss to your forehead, your brow, the tip of your nose, trailing down and starting to hum. “I mean, you could just stay-”

“Agh, Tyler-” 

“We have time,” I whisper into your neck, “it’s only six thirty...”

 

“You know what?” You say, half an hour later. “I think I know my new year’s resolution.”

“Yeah?” I ask, rolling onto my stomach. “Tell me?”

You fold your arms behind your head, still breathing slightly hard. Your forehead is shiny and your lips are bright red, curling into a smile. “I dunno, prettyboy-”

“Mhm? Yeah? Want to start that again?”

“Maybe I should stop giving in to you,” you laugh. “Maybe I should be in charge”

“In charge, what are you talking about?” I lightly punch you. “You’re the one that took my alc and dumped it down the fucking drain-”

You roll your eyes. “Only because I  _ had  _ to-”

“You threw out all the good stuff! Even the stuff I hid! Even in my locker-”

“Shhhh,” this time it’s you cutting me off, rolling on top of me. “I have to go anyways, I’ll see you tonight-” You jump out of the bed, landing on the floor in soft socked feet. The sudden cold in the bed next to me almost hurts. 

“Josh, Josh, what are you talking about, get back here-” I reach for your waist and my fingers barely snag your boxers before you shake them off, pulling on your loose grey sweatpants. “Please? I even woke up early-”

You flash a smile before pulling your shirt over your head for the second time that morning. “I’m leaving through the front door. They won’t notice. Text me. Love you.”

“Love you,” I say to your back as you slide out the door, padding down the hallway and to the stairs. I can only hear you because I’m listening for it- otherwise, the house would be silent.

The house is silent for a while. A long time. Too long. I’m too bored, there’s nothing to do without you here. 

Digging through my closet, I find an old DS. It’s broken and there’s no games. There’s old math notes and single socks, nothing to do. Nothing. Notebooks are buried in the corner but I don’t feel like opening them, there’s baseballs and gloves that are too small and nothing. Nothing. 

I try to sleep for the third time that day, but it’s impossible when I know you’re coming back. Any minute. You could crawl in through the window and leave a light dusting of snow on the floor; you could pad into my room with a creak of the door. 

It’s only 1:30 and you still aren’t here.

I resign to digging through the closet again, pulling the notebooks out and placing them on the floor. I’d forgotten what was in them, really, other than stupid poems and mindless journaling. Just weird words, really, that had felt right when I wrote them down. Some lyrics, some notes. None of them made sense when I tried to read them after, so they just slept in the corner. 

The other side of the closet is a wasteland of jerseys and old computer chargers.

I pull them out one by one, until I discover a plastic keyboard buried under a baseball jersey.

The stand is broken, legs snapped in half and extending like a dead spider. I don’t even try to pull it out. I dig earbuds out of my backpack and place the keyboard on my lap.

It’s familiar, but weird. It’s been years since I’ve touched the thing- one of my last Christmas presents- but it fits well. It sounds good when I press a few keys. 

One of my old notebooks had notes in it, chords and notes. After checking the door to make sure my parents aren’t coming (they won’t, they don’t care) I sit down and try to play.

It sounds like shit. I’m rusty. I can’t sing anymore; I used to try when I was younger. I try to play a simple progression and it just. Doesn’t. Work. 

Too many memories are popping up, too many fucking nights spent just trying to make this thing sound good. Just trying to sound out any other noises, any other sounds in my head. I couldn’t hear the past, it couldn’t come back.

And that’s why some days I can’t stand you. You bring back the past you are the past you live my past you remind me of things I cannot be reminded of, just like this stupid keyboard. Stupid. I’m stupid for even trying to play on it again, it’s a thing of the past. A past me. I throw it on the ground, because I’m not going to cry. No, I’m not going to cry. No.

It’s not broken but I can’t bring myself to get up and really break it.

I lie on my bed with cold feet. You’ll be here soon.

It’s only when you slide your cold hands into the crevice between my neck and my shoulder do I wake up. 

“Josh, what the shit?” I shout, slapping your hands off. You laugh, falling backwards.

“What time is it?” I ask, yawning. 

“Four thirty, how long have you been asleep?”

“Couple hours. When’d you get here?”

You cross your legs, propping your head on your chin. “Long enough to read your mail.”

“And?” I ask, grabbing a sweatshirt from the foot of the bed and pulling it over my head.

“Lemme show you something first.” You pull a crumpled paper out of your pocket, and I slide next to you and kiss your cheek. 

“So, uh, I saw your keyboard on the floor-”

“That’s from when I was a kid. I dunno how to use it-”

“Yeah, and I saw your notebook too.” I look down- the yellow one is lying open on the floor, where I threw it. 

“It’s nonsense, from when I was younger-”I shake my head, my cheeks turning red. “They’re stupid. I don’t even know what they’re about-”

“No, Tyler-” you put your hand on my leg,” the songs, they’re actually really good. The ones I read.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, so that’s what I was kind of getting at.” You look down at the paper in your hand, hiding it from me.

“What’s that?”

“This is going to sound stupid.”

“Josh,” I laugh, kissing you,” you just read my shitty emo lyrics from when I was fifteen. You literally couldn’t do worse.”

“They’re actually-”

“Be quiet, idiot. What’s on the paper?”

You clear your throat. “You remember when we first started talking, and like, that one day we, like, you know- back in November, early November, when we went to your-”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“So, ah, there was this one time- I dunno, you ever get a song stuck in your head?”

I nod. “‘course.”

“A stupid song got stuck in my head- I mean, it’s not an actual song. I just came up with it, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not- I don’t write stuff, you know, I just always thought of the lyrics when I was with you.” You hand the paper to me.”Here, I mean, I wrote it down because I saw the piano. I figured you could use it, maybe.”

It’s written in messy pen and there’s a few lines crossed out, and it’s definitely your handwriting.

_ You are tired _

_ You are hurt _

_ A moth ate through _

_ Your favorite shirt _

_ And all your friends _

_ Fertilize _

_ The ground you walk _

_ Lose your mind _

_ You like to sleep alone _

_ It's colder than you know _

_ 'Cause your skin is so used to colder bones _

_ It's warmer in the morning _

_ Than what it is at night _

_ Your bones are held together _

_ By your nightmares and your frights _

_ You are tired _

_ You are hurt _

_ A moth ate through _

_ Your favorite shirt _

_ And all your friends _

_ They fertilize _

_ The ground you walk _

_ So lose your mind _

“It’s missing something, but, you know, I’m not a writer-”

“I love it.” I fold it carefully and place it on my nightstand. “I can’t promise I’ll use it, because I don’t do that kind of thing anymore-”

“I just wanted you to see it.”

I nod, then wrap my arms around you. “I’m glad you’re back.”

You laugh, leaning your head into my shoulder. “It’s been, like, six hours.”

“Six hours too many,” I mutter, kissing your neck. “I missed you.”

“Come on,” 

“Come on?” I say, pushing you back slowly. “You don’t have to go back until later.”

You groan, sliding your fingers into my hair. “Jesus christ, Tyler.”

I lean over you, pulling my sweatshirt over my head and pushing your shirt up. You’re too fucking pretty, I can’t stand it, you smell like outside and snow and you taste like peppermint, like candy canes, and you’re soft and small and I can’t stop myself from-

“‘s too cold,” you mutter, before I press my lips to yours. “Nevermind,” you whisper, eyes half closed and toes curling. “Keep going,”

I sit back up. “Hold up.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, your wide, brown, eyes, running your hands through your hair. “Make up your mind. What?”

“What letter did you read?”

“Oh yeah,” You grin, propping yourself on your elbows. “That.”

“Joshua, tell me,” 

“What if I don’t?” 

“I’ll get you-”

“Ohio State,” you try to pull me back down, “you can look at it later.”

“Shut up.” I laugh. “Bullshit.”

“They offered you a spot, but you can look at it later-”

“Shut up.”

“No, actually,” you grab my hands, “you’re into Ohio State.”

“Buuulllllshit,” I say, shaking my head. “Bull. Absolute bull.”

“Here, I’ll go find it-” You say, sitting up, “It’s here. I promise. It’s not official but it’s the basically guaranteed spot, the-”

“Yeah, yeah, the ‘extremely interested’ thing?” 

You nod. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“You’re not fucking with me? Promise.” 

You hug me tightly. “I’m happy for you and I promise I’m not making this up, Ty, you deserve this-”

I press my lips to yours, grinning widely. “I got in! I fucking got in-”

“I mean-”

“Yeah, I didn’t get in but all I have to do is not fuck up and I’ll get signed for baseball-”

“Exactly.” You smile. “Don’t get suspended, keep your grades up-”

“Easy.” I kiss you again. “I can survive another semester, right?”

“Right.” 

You don’t leave very soon after that, not for a while. 


	14. Friday 4/26: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we are coming to the END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's me!! I'm back!!  
> I also wrote the chapter after this.  
> I apologize that this has taken so long but I'm honestly too happy to write anything with meaning, so, like, it takes a while for me to get in a mood to write any of this. Also NaNaWriMo.  
> Enjoy! we are ending this story soon. I might finish the guardian angel one too.  
> Comment prompts if ya want

The bell rings and I stand up, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. Shoving through the flood of kids, I make my way to the senior parking lot.

You have last period off, but you always come back for me. You're sitting in your car, fiddling with the keyboard in your lap.

I open the door and slide into the seat. "'Sup?"

You sigh and look up. "Hey, Josh." 

"Writer's block?" I ask, shoving my backpack in the back of the car.

You nod, then press your face against the keys. Random notes play and I laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Hey, it'll be okay."

"No it won't," you groan, smashing your face back and forth. "There's a song stuck in here," you point to your head. "I can't get it out," 

I pick up the spiral notebook lying on the ground by my feet. There's crossed out lines, scribbles, a couple of doodles. "What are you trying to say?"

"Dunno," you moan. "That's the problem." You turn your face to look at me. "All those things I wrote, all the good things, I wrote when I was upset. You know? I had things to write about. I was mad, scared. Now," a smile spreads across your face, "now, I'm too damn happy to write anything."

I laugh. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," you smile, then put the car in drive.

We go to your house, where I greet your parents with a smile. Your dad- Chris- grunts and turns back to the TV. He doesn't like the fact that I'm- well, that I'm a guy- but it's obvious I'm making a good impact. You haven't been drunk this year, actually. We gave that up together.

Truthfully, I needed to give up drinking as much as you. I could feel myself spiraling, and man, sometimes it's hard. You know, not to drink. And I think you know that, and that's what keeps you strong. We fortify each other. 

And while you do help, you do make things better, you're my best friend and I'm happy with you, there's still things nagging the back of my mind.

I don't remember a lot of them. The memories are too foggy, really, to bother with. But sometimes, when we're in your room, I see the ceiling and my stomach clenches. My throat closes up, and I smell bitter alcohol and my head hurts. I'm not really sure what it is, and I'm probably never going to ask you.

It was the last day of school earlier today, and we have the entire week to ourselves for spring break. 

I got a ukulele, and I'm still not really sure why. It was $20 at a thrift store. I play when you play piano- not together, we just play next to each other. I don't write anything, just learn songs that I like. 

It's sticking out of my backpack when I drop it on the ground next to yours. You sit down heavily on your bed, then fall backwards.

"What're we gonna do with  _ all this free time? _ " You ask.

"Homework," I laugh.

You snort. "I can't fucking believe Mrs.Richardson. A  _ research paper _ ?"

"Plus calculus…" 

"Pre calc for me, and physics." 

I shake my head. "I've even got bio, too."

"I guess, yeah, we're doing homework this break," you sigh. "We should probably start soon."

"Let's take tonight off, though!" I say, falling on my back next to you. "I'm not doing any fuckin' homework on a Friday night."

"Then what're we gonna do?" You ask, running your hands through your hair. 

I shrug, then realize you can't see me. "I guess, we, uh, we could do music?" You glance over at your keyboard, dropped on top of your backpack.

"Nah," we say at the same time. I rub my eyes. 

"Maybe I'll just sleep," I say, chuckling slightly. "I know I need it."

You sit up, a slight smile on your face. "Well, I mean, I do have an idea, but you're not gonna like it…"

"What." I roll my eyes. "If it's, like, creating a band or whatever again, I-"

"No no no," you shake your head. "No. Okay, so, it's a Friday…"

"Yeah?" I prop myself up on my eyebrows. "Get to it, Tyler."

"Alright, well, there's a party tonight and-"

I open my mouth to protest, but you put out a hand. "No, Josh, hold on. Hear me out."

I roll my eyes, but stay quiet. 

"It's nearing the end of school, and I'm in college already. I've been completely cold, and you have too, for  _ months. _ And I'm not even suggesting drinking, it's just that someone invited me to this, and-"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"It's- no, it's not a good idea." I press my lips to your shoulder, then your neck. "No, let's just stay in, watch a movie-"

"We've been watching movies  _ all winter _ ," you groan, grabbing my hand. "It's spring. Let's just have a little fun,"

"Ty…" I trail off as your eyes meet mine.

You really want this, I can tell. Maybe there's something you aren't telling me, but I trust you. You probably miss parties, need to remind yourself why you hate them. Or something.

"C'mon, Joshhhhh," you plead, leaning forwards. "I don't want you to be pissed off all night, I want you to have fun… I won't go without you," you added, squeezing my hand.

I sigh. It would probably be good for us to get out anyways. "Whose house is it?" I ask.

"Kid on my baseball team- Thomas," you say, voice rising. "It'll be super lowkey, chill, okay?"

"You sure?" I ask. "You know who's gonna be there?"

"Good guys, good, guys, it'll be very toned down," you say, waving your hand. "We don't have to stay there any longer than you want to, we can leave when things get too crazy. 

"You sure?" I ask. "You ready for this?"

You smile. "I am. It'll be fun, I promise."

 

It's not fun. Not really. 

The kids are nice enough, and it's not very late. There isn't too much drinking going on. I'm sitting on the armrest of a couch, and you're in the kitchen flucking with knives or something. I dunno. I stopped standing with you awhile ago.

Your teammates are nice, but they stare. Everyone knows about you and me, because you dropped out of the center of public eye when I showed up. Some people resent me, but most are just curious. What is it about me that "changed" you?

I try not to think about it too much. There's an instinct, a natural drive, deep within my chest to protect you. I'm so close to done, all you have are finals and then you're off to college. 

Shifting in my chair, I twist my hands. That's why we shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be taking risks like this. 

"Hey Josh! Get in here!" You shout from the kitchen. I jump up, ignoring some of the kids around me. 

I turn the corner just in time to see you tipping a red solo cup back.

Staring in disbelief, I cross my arms. "What's that?"

"This?" You look down at the cup in your right hand, then look back up at me. "Don't worry 'bout that. We're playing pong, you're on my team." Reaching to pull me over, you smile.

I lean back ."Tyler, really? Drinking?"

The smile falls from your face. "C'mon, Josh. Relax. It'll be fine."

I shake my head. "No, okay, think about this.  _ Think. _ You can't just start drinking again, and even if you do want to, your tolerance isn't the same, you can't go hard on the first night back-"

"Josh. This is not hard." You grit your teeth. "Can't you just relax?" Tipping the cup so I can see the inside, you say, "see? It's just light beer. There's nothing in there. We're just trying to have fun," you gesture to the boys standing around us. "I thought you could have fun."

"This isn't fun, this is taking unnecessary risks -"

"C'mon, Josh," Thomas says, a reasoning expression on his face. "Tyler told us you were down. I mean, you don't have to drink, nobody's gonna make you, but you could stop being- well- annoying." 

A chorus of "yeah"s goes through the group standing in the kitchen, and I can feel the embarrassment burning on my cheeks. I look at you, but I know you're not going to back me up. You're drinking out of the cup again. 

I stare at the ground and set my jaw. This could go two possible ways. Either, I leave and have you upset with me, or I prove that I'm "chill". Because the main fear right now is that I'll rat, or something. They don't want me to get out without holding something over my head. If I've been drinking too, I can't report it. 

I mean, I'm not planning on reporting anyone, ever, in a million years. That's exactly how not to make friends, and everyone always knows who it is. Plus, you're at this party, and your cheeks are a little red. I need to stay here, anyways, so I can watch you.

I sigh. You won't admit your tolerance is a fraction of what it used to be, so you'll get more drunk then you'll mean to. I have to stay. 

I look back up, a wide grin on my face. Walking over to the bar/island where all the liquor is, I grab a cup and pour two inches of vodka in it. God, am I really going to do this? Vodka is the easiest hard liquor to get down for me, but it's still hard. Everyone's watching me as I bring the cup up to my lips and swallow, swallow, swallow- then swallow a couple times when the liquor is gone. It's something you talked about doing, because it makes you seem like you took much more alc that you did.

Finally, I wide my lips and smile. 

Henry starts the cheer, screaming, "LET'S FUCKIN GO JOSH!", and the crowd erupts. I grin wider; I can see why you liked this attention.

They turn back to the pong set up on the kitchen table, and you walk up to me. "Holy shit," you say, "that was a lot."

I have two options. I can be upset with you or not. 

I decide anger is for later, or never.

"Okay, no, that wasn't a lot," I laugh, "that was the air gulp trick you taught me."

You roll your eyes. "I didn't teach you about that! I told you about it, like, once."

"I'm a fast learner," I say, grabbing your hand. "Teach me the rest of your party shite."

You grin, then pull me over to the table. "You ready to get drunk outta your goddamn mind?"

My head gets lighter, your eyes get wider. The music gets deeper, pounding through my mind. More people have come; it's warmer. I nod.

"Then you're going down in flipcup," you laugh, then push me up against the table. "Let's fucking go!"


	15. The same night: Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ty was wrong as per usual and  
> well  
> it was a bad idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look! I'm actually updating!!  
> I also rewrote a lot of the chapters- not changed them completely, but re did some dialogue, took out some of the more juvenile parts, tried to make it better. I left the original style (my style has definitely changed) but made it better.  
> All chapters have little parts edited but the first chapter has a lot, and the party chapter beginning is different. the end is still the same.  
> I also changed the part where josh talks to his parents and tried to make it less cringe because that really was cliche shit. anyways, enjoy.

You finally relaxed, a couple hours ago. I dunno where you are now, but I'm on a rug. The rug is soft. It's warm.

There's a lot of shouting and I kind of wish it would stop but it's okay because I don't want to fight I just want to sit here or lay here or whatever I'm doing.

I guess I'm sitting. There's a couch behind me, it's grey and soft and there's pillows on it. There were. I think the pillows are gone now. Charlie moved them when more people came.

A lot of people came, actually it was really surprising and  _ man _ it's really hot in here. Heat rises, but it's still hot on the floor. It must be really really hot where everyone is standing.

I wouldn't be standing even if I could. I can't, because last time I tried, I fell. To where I am now.

Oh, I know where you are. You're in the kitchen, probly. Maybe. I wish you were next to me but I know you're upset at least kind of and I can't  _ really  _ remember why but I think it has something to do with being at this house… but you're having fun at least. You were drinking, and your face was getting really really flushed like it does. It's cute and I wish I could look at your face right now. You know? I wish I could see you. Your hair is soft, like the rug I'm sitting on.

I tilt my head back really fast, let it drop.That hurt. I laugh. Pain is weird. If you think about it, it doesn't hurt. It's just nerves n stuff. Not real pain. Real pain is that stuff in your chest, that, like, hurt when bad things happen. Makes ya emo, cause they're emotions, ya know?

There's a basement, and there's people down there. I can hear their yells drifting up through the floors like it's hot air. Or they're hot air. The voice are hot. They're getting louder, probably because someone just won something.

No, this is different than the usual cycle. I blink. The screams get higher, and people run up the stairs and I blink again and lift my arm but I can't get my head to decide what to do should I sit down or stand up. I should stand up. Something is wrong.

I don't know where you are, but I wish I did. You'd tell me what is going on. Why people are running.

"Get out of the house!" Someone screams, and I nod. Yes. That seems to be the general idea. A good idea.

I see you, jumping through the crowd. I think you're looking for me. "Tyler!" You scream, over and over. I guess maybe you are looking for me.

You don't need to run; I'm right here. I am right here. You don't need to yell I see you but maybe you don't see me I push my back to the couch and try to stand up. 

I fall, and the rug is not soft this time. It is scary. It hugs me to the ground and I thrash because I have to get  _ out of this floor  _ and  _ out of the house  _  because that's the  _ right thing to do _ . 

"TYLER!" You see me and on unsteady feet grab my hands. They're pale and sweaty. Also soft. I laugh, but you need something. You need me to stand up. I push, and my head doesn't balance quite right on my shoulders, but it's okay because you've got my arm. I smile. You've always got some part of me- my arm, my head, my back- you're always there and I'm still not really sure why I mean I'm not a good person I don't really deserve you.

We go out the front doors, down the concrete steps. One two three. I can count, even when I can't stand. Priorities? 

You're typing on your phone with shaky fingers. You swear loudly.

"Wha happen?" I mumble, sitting on the grass. People are jumping into cars and driving really really fast away. 

"Gas leak," you say. "It calls the cops. Automatically. We have to fuckin get out of here." 

"Wha ya mean?" I ask, picking a stalk of grass. "Where we gonna go?"

"I'm trying to get a- an uber, but-" you throw your phone on the lawn and scream, "GODDAMNIT!"

"What's wrong?" I ask, tears coming to my eyes. It's not like you to be this way. 

"We're drunk," you say. I nod. That's a reasonable assumption.

"I shouldn't drive," you talk again. I nod. Not sure why, but since you're saying it, it's probably reasonable.

"You can't drive either," you mutter, as I try to stand up. 

I shake my head. That's also reasonable.

You pull me up again, and around other kids, we make our way to my car parked on the side of a gravel road because this house is far away almost in the woods. The driveway is gravel, which means they're rich. It's funny, because gravel cuts. I have scrapes all over my knees by the time we are at the car and you are swearing because you think you can hear sirens in the distance.

"Wha happened?"I ask again.

"They were wrestling, broke a gas pipe or some shit," you mutter, grunting as you pull open the passenger side door of the car. "It smelled like propane and shit, and, like, we hadda get outta there."                           

"'vrey one okay?"

You nod, breathing heavily. "I think everyone's okay, Ty, but we gotta get out of here, the cops can't see us here."

After putting me in the seat, you open your own and get in your seat.

"If- if they catch us, my parents- your scholarship-" you mumble, turning the keys to start the car.

Where'd you get the keys? You know how to drive? I always drive us, even though you know how to drive, my car's stick-

"GODDAMNIT!" You scream as the car jerks forward. "It's stick! I can't fucking drive stick! I don't fucking know how to

change gears!" You stomp on the pedal, slamming the car to a stop. The sirens get  louder and you put your face on the steering wheel and I think you're  _ crying _ and I know you're almost as drunk as I am and-

"Josh," I mumble, fumbling with my seatbelt, "let me drive."

Your head whips up, eyes red "No."

"I ha- I gotta," I slur, my hands growing sweaty. I open the car door and half step half fall out, catching myself against the 

side of the door. "We gotta go, can't- can't get caught by cops,"

You get out of the car, shaking your head. "No, no, this is such a bad idea-"

"Jo- Joshie," I mutter, grabbing your hand, "Trust me, we gotta leave, we gotta get out, you can't drive…"

Your hands are shaking and your lips is trembling. "We can just run," you point to the woods to our right. "We could just spend the night-" 

"Car," I say. "License plate. They'd know it's me. We have to go, now." The sirens are getting louder, so with a final shake of your head you get in the passenger side of the car. I make my way to the driver's side, collapsing in the seat before wiping the sweat out of my eyes.

You're staring at me, pulling your seatbelt over your chest before I put the car in drive. I meet your eyes, barely. I can't keep them open. There's no time. I can't keep looking at you. The lights are reaching through the trees, the sirens are loud. I grit my teeth and step on the gas, pulling away from the side of the road.

The radio is on, but you turn it off. I'm desperately trying to keep my eyes open, to keep the car at the right speed, but the numbers are too blurry. The road signs pass too quickly. I guess at the speed, my hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. I'm holding my breath. The road keeps turning.

"J- Josh, can you talk to me?" get out through my teeth.

"What?" You sniff, voice shaky. "You want me to talk to you?" 

I nod, which sends the road into spirals. I stop nodding. "Just tell me something."

"Well," you say, taking a deep breath, "there was one night, a while ago…"


	16. The same night: Josh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty short but I've thought about it a lot. this conversation is as realistic as I could make it.  
> remember they're both really drunk but they're trying to think and talk about really dark and heavy things.

This is such a bad, bad idea. We're in the middle of nowhere, and you're more wasted than I am. We're nowhere my house, because we can't go to yours. Your dad. He'll see you drunk because holy shit you're plastered and you're behind the wheel of the car that I'm in and you're not going to get us home I know that, but I have to believe. 

You're staring intently at the road, blinking heavily. You're going ten miles under the speed limit, and we've already had two cars pass us. You have no sense of direction, and I'm not really sure where to go. I'm trying to get us back into town, where I can tell where we are by signs.

Your eyes keep snagging trees and signs, and you're talking about the moon. You asked me to talk, but you're doing most of the talking.

"The moon," you say, "it's pretty."

I nod. "Keep looking at the road, 'kay?"

"Y'know, I'm going to go to the moon someday," you gesture up at the sky, "we'll go live up there."

"Uh huh."

"Josh?" You turn to look at me. "I have a question."

"Ask away, and look at the road."

You keep your eyes, your glazed, fading eyes, on mine. I clear my throat.

"Why do you like me?" You ask, then turn back to the road.

I laugh a bit. "Well, Ty, you're my world. You know that. I guess-"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "Why, really?"

I sigh and look at the pine trees flying past the car. "I love the way you yawn when you wake up. I love your obsession with mint chocolate chip ice cream. I love the songs you write on the piano, and I love it when you sing. I love it your laugh when we're watching a funny movie."

"Is that it?" You ask.

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, there's so much more. So, so much more." 

You stay silent. Something's on your mind, but you won't tell me if I ask. You'll stay silent until you get what you want, so I'll keep talking.

"You want to hear about my favorite memory of you?" Without waiting for an answer, I continue. "It's kind of dumb, but, you know, I think it was when we went camping."

"Camping?" You laugh. "That wasn't camping, that was a tent in the woods."

"Yeah," I smile. "But it was still fun." 

It was a weekend where we had nothing to do. You wanted to go camping. For once, it had stopped raining, and although it was still cold in the morning, it was dry. 

Neither of us had a tent. We couldn’t really say where we were going; we didn't really know. I told my parents I was at someone’s house, you didn’t even leave a note.

No one could know what we were doing, so we took your car. Stole a sleeping bag, buried under piles of board games in the corner of your garage. Took a handful of clif bars and a few bottles of water. A bag of dried cherries and a shit ton of reece’s cups. Set for the night.

The air was heavy with silence when I left my house; you were waiting a few blocks down. The sleeping bag was already in the back, along with the food. I took a notebook and a pencil. Not for me, but for you. When you needed it.

It wasn't raining when we got there, or when you climbed the tree up to the thinnest branches that snapped under your weight. We tried to build a fire, but it had been years since you were in boy scouts and I'd never actually been camping. I think you used to go camping with your family or something. There were kid sized sleeping bags in your garage, small camping chairs.

We ate reeces all damn night, my stomach ached and my mouth was unnaturally sweet but goddamnit, that was the happiest I've ever been. Most free, I'd say. I think. There was no one to see us or hear us and we could talk loudly, not in hushed whispers or-

"Josh," you mumble, head starting to droop. "I needya t'keep talkin…"

"Shit," I say, "sorry, sorry, I was just thinking about that time, y'know,"

You smile. "We can go camping later, I was thinking about that. We can build an actual fire, babe, w'can- y'know' we can make s'mores, w'can-"

"Mhmm," I say, nodding. 

"What s'nother time, y'know, that you were happy?" You ask. "I wanna- I wanna- I want you to talk 'bout being happy."

"Yeah, well," I say, taking a breath, "there was this one time, a while ago."

"Yeah?"

"I just r'member that I was really cold, y'know, and we were going somewhere, I was in this car," I motion to the backseat, "and I was laying there for some reason, and I couldn't keep my eyes open."

Your hands grip the steering wheel tighter.

"Everything good?" I ask. We're in the city now, but almost no one it out driving. We're close to home, close to safety. 

You nod, then shake the fog out of your eyes. "Yeah, good. Keep goin'."

"Well, I mean, I had a jacket over me. It was pretty soft, and you kept turning. A lot, and I kept sliding across the backseat." I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to remember more of the memory." You were up front, playing soft rock on the radio, and it was really dark out. And, like, you'd asked me where I lived, and you got there and when you opened the door, there was a lot of cold air, and-"

I stop. There's tears coming out of your eyes. "Ty, what's going on?"

You shake your head, mumbling. "It's fine, it's fine, this is fine." We slow to a stop at a red light. It's deathly silent in the night around us. 

I put my hand on your arm. "No, it's not, what's wrong? Why- why are you  _ crying _ ?"

"Jus' drunk," you say, swiping a hand across your cheek. "Is' good."

"No, Tyler, what's going on?"

"Jus' finish the goddamn story," you say. The light turns green and you accelerate forward. 

I swallow. "I don't know a lot else, I mean, I think I was really drunk. It was a dream, kind of. It was a dream. It was probably a dream, because I don't remember where we were-"

"We were at a party," you say, voice dead. "And- and-" then you mumble something else I can't hear.

"And what?" I ask.

"The punch," you murmur. "The goddamn punch. And freckles, you have freckles on your back."

It flashes back, you emerging through the crowd. The slap on my cheek still stung, and the wall was moving too much and  _ man  _ it was hot, you leaned against the wall next to me with a smile. There was a glint in your eye, but you were grinning and happy to see me and the cup in your hands, you handed it to me. I took a sip, not because I wasn't already drunk, but because you were watching. You  _ wanted  _ me to drink it. You  _ needed  _ me to get it down, and I questioned it at first, maybe you'd put something in there. But no, I trusted you. I trusted you even when I could barely keep my eyes open, when I felt my legs go limp and I saw the floor and felt things I shouldn't have.

"Tyler," I ask, turning towards you, "did- did you- did you do something to me?"

You nod, tears coming out faster. You're not even wiping them away anymore, but you won't look at me. We pass by a pizza place, our favorite place to eat. 

"I don't- I dunno how it happened, but- I- I shouldn't tell you this, I shouldn't tell you, I have to protect you and keep you safe and keep you happy and you can't leave, Josh, you can't just fucking  _ leave _ when we're so happy together and I know it shouldn't have happened-"

"I know." I whisper. "I know what happened."

You look at me, face red and blotchy. "Then why are you still here?"

I shake my head."Who knows, Ty. I just- I needed to fix you."

"Pleas' don' leave," you murmur, reaching out to touch me. I shrink away.

"I don't- I don't know if I can do that," I say. "You- I pushed this down. I ignored it, I let you do whatever you wanted just so you'd be  _ whole _ again, and now- now you're in college, you're almost out of school- and I- I need to fix myself-"

"Josh-"

"No, Tyler." I snap. "You don't fucking know anything. I lived through that, I lived through what  _ you _ did to me, you- you- you  _ raped  _ me, Tyler, look at me." You tear your eyes away from the road, and I can barely keep talking, but you need to hear this. "Tyler, I was young, I was drunk, you gave me something in that fucking drink and you knew it was there, and then you  _ raped  _ me and pretended like it didn't happen, like you loved me, you've acted this whole time like  _ you're _ the one who fucking got assaulted but in reality, in actual fucking real life,  _ you  _ forced  _ me. _ " 

"Josh-"

"You don't understand how much I've gone through, what I've done to help you, and you'll never understand."

"Josh- I- I'm so sorry-" You reach out again, and I push it away.

"No, Tyler. This- this has been coming forever, and you need to realize- you just need to realize it. I won't tell anyone, or whatever, you can just live your life, go to college-"

"I don't want college, I don't give a shit, I jus' want you-" you hiccough, struggling to form words," J- Josh, please-"

"No." 

I see your face, full of desperation, you look deep into my eyes, reaching out with a hand- and I'm ready to slap it away again, but your mouth opens, your eyes widen and fill with fear, and you scream-

and there's a skid, a slam, sharp, crack, hot red black heavy chest numb  _hurt_ -

and-

and nothing after that. 


End file.
